#well i think his card should release on my birthday in a few weeks because my birthday | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rengokugutspill · 27 days ago

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merchandise view & life as a seller

After a few days the kuji figure dropped in price but some people are definitely still trying to be stubborn about it. I see few & far between for fifty or lower while it seems a lot of people are still in the over a hundred to like seventy range. I ended up finding a listing for fifty & used a coupon to take it down lower. I was also able to get the open mouth happy version of the scared noise Rengoku doll, which he is shipped & on his way now though most likely won't arrive until probably the first week of January.

I saw what is apparently the first wave of the hashira exhibition items start to get posted. First only by the acrylic stand, which I read is about seven inches in height but I can't figure out if that's the plate it comes on or out of the plate ? It's initial price is roughly fifty which I took, again with a coupon, because it's blind bag & thinking pull price is rounded to eight usd & divide by a pool of nine variants with repeats, fifty is probably pretty reasonable. I do imagine it will drop by at least twenty over time. I think sometimes I can be allowed to be a little bastard.

I was so excited, I was looking at the other goods introduced. I'm kind of confused because I hadn't seen a post by the studio themself introducing this new wave or making any feature for it but I was able to find the exhibition website to peruse. I'm pretty amped up ! I did see an acknowledgment for the second wave to launch in January. I'm really curious if an additional art will be utilized ? I like this one well enough but admit I do think it could be a bit better. But also I am always begging for something more lol

I know there is an eatery doing a Demon Slayer collaboration & Rengoku's items are set to launch in January, so I am looking forward to that. Also, pretty soon is the kyogen items, which I plan to try to get probably half of them. Though I'm worried if that's limited run whether or not the items will be harder to obtain ?

For now, of the current set I am meaning to get the fabric poster, which is honestly gorgeous, they absolutely killed it on that one, I LOVE it so much !! I'm dying for it actually ! There's also a shirt & bromide/ card set. I'm not entirely certain what the paper product qualifies as ? Also, a mirror I would like. We see another animation set of acrylic stands that I do kinda want, but I think it's twenty dollars more than the last one because there's more included in this one. My whole thing is much like I complained with everything else, I really can't even see what the artwork actually is because the preview image is so small...

I'm imagining these should post to global because the opening items were posted ? But then again, of course we never saw any of the can badges. I suppose I could give it like two weeks & see what happens ? Because I will buy these from the studio directly if I can.

But I'm still feeling very distraught because I still have not received the birthday or spring items from earlier this year. Depending on how long preorder goes for, I suppose there's nothing to think until the end of January, when I'd actually reach out & be like wtf is going on with these ? Cos the website doesn't say they were shipped or anything, but realistically I think they should have arrived before the end of the year... But Drawing Pals were talking just recently about having a preorder sell out, so I do think that's possible. I feel like I see the merchandise for the birthday set releasing in waves & I believe I read somewhere that there's longer manufacture times depending on the number of orders. Which with Rengoku it's one part extremely popular character, that people are going to be buying him just because they want him but also people buying him specifically for reselling purposes. When contending with that, I really would not be shocked in the slightest if his manufacture got pushed out extremely far to make an inordinate demand. Give Kyojuro an award for being most coveted boy !

They'd also released an over the shoulder bag for the initial launch of the exhibition that I've felt very conflicted about. I just don't really like the art. I feel like a different art could be perfect & would make for an item that not only would I desperately want, but something I would use all the time. But feeling like I don't love the art makes me second guess myself for the bag. I'm still very on the fence about it.

& despite saying I don't love the artwork, when we got the full body artwork, which I was expecting, I really love the way that looks. They made his belt buckle so big lol looking at other images around my room, his belt buckle is typically roughly the size of his eye, now it's far bigger than his eye. I wonder if anyone else have noticed ? Something about it being basically his original artwork but just front facing is really doing it for me. Such nice arms ! Nice breast & nice torso. I love him !!!!!!

I also preordered the new Figma which was about sixty dollars, so it was definitely better to get it via the preorder than resale which is usually a hundred dollars minimum. I ordered directly through Japan as I have been despite there allegedly being a preorder for it in USA, I was unable to find the actual international preorder anywhere. But I also ordered like the day it launched because I didn't see a preorder close date so it made me nervous lol

I'm also waiting on my Spiritale. I was hoping they were going to release before Christmas so it could be a Christmas miracle. I'm still concerned over what that shipping cost is going to be & agonizing over the delivery.

& I don't think I mentioned this before yet but remember how I was previously lamenting the lot of twelve Rengoku dolls featuring the two of my most coveted ? It relisted missing the forty cm doll, which does suck, especially because it stayed at the same price, but I was able to get it & it did arrive early so I will be able to have those dolls, among others, for Christmas ! It feels like the greatest Christmas ever already !!

Though my one complaint is my bird Rengoku arrived & when I went to dress him, I just feel like I don't have nearly enough clothes to make reasonable outfits for everyone at once. The lot also came with two ten cm dolls & one fifteen cm doll. Originally I was going to resell the fifteen cm one, but when I held him in my hands, he was too baby & cute, I couldn't bring myself to do such a thing. Now I have to find clothes for these babies. & idk, I saw extremely cute coveralls on Aliexpress but when I went to buy them, all of a sudden the listing was just gone ? So currently I don't even have an idea about what to get them & I already know when I get my new boys, I am not really going to have enough viable ensembles to dress everyone... I will also likely have to completely rearrange my room again.

In other exciting news, dear friend had brought me a large amount of clothes to go through. I'd said before I struggle with the fact I'm aging, I can't slay a large load the way I used to when I was a teenager or early twenties. I was given nine bags & my mom had dropped off only a couple garments, though I think I kept most of what my mom had brought. Except there was a onesie pair of pajamas without feet that have a fun little butt flap that I thought were cute but when I put them on, they were too short for me to wear. & only just barely too, but enough to keep randomly clotheslining me in the crotch. Since I wore them, I'm putting them in the wash, but then they will be on deck to be listed because it's not viable for me to keep them.

Day of receive I emptied all bags. They said I would need to wash everything, so everything was separated by gentle & regular cycles. There were mens clothes also, so those were set aside for last. I think the total loads was six ? So I did three loads first. I think maybe after the first or second load I wanted to take a nap but I couldn't fall asleep so I went back for more. As they finish, I am putting the clothes on the couch to sort by type & then trying everything on basically in batches. Depending on the load type, sometimes a dry cycle was finishing before I got through the clothes that had been sorted, resulting in adding to the sorted piles. From there, sorted again by donate, keep & sell. Keep is sorted further into garment type.

At some point I did go to bed only to get up at four thirty in the morning to go right back to it & I didn't finish until after ten in the morning. I had about a load's worth that were all line dry I'd had to wait on from the day before, which made it all the more fantastic I had the foresight to do delicates first. My actual reason for that decision was just because I liked the look of the delicates & wanted to be able to try them on sooner lol

I ended up with roughly six drawer sized stacks of clothes I was keeping, two large sized reusable shopping bags worth of clothes to sell & one regular size reusable shopping bag of clothes to donate. There were also a few garments I was iffy about. Where I couldn't tell whether or not I liked them, so I will hold onto them for now. This has happened to me with a couple other garments recently that my mom gave me. There were two pairs of pants where the one I didn't like the material but decided to try to deal with, yet both those pants, when I went to wear them, I found they were the type that give you a whole extra ghost vagina, which I can't tell if maybe a previous owner was wearing the pants up way too high or if maybe it's the type of material or the way they were sewn that just does something weird to the crotch ? But I can't stand when pants do that. The one especially sucked because they were these really awesome sixties / seventies inspired mod bellbottom style pants & it's like, I can't even entertain something that's going to do me like that. It's humiliating & disturbing.

There were a number of Star Wars things. I don't know if Star Wars is money, but I know it gets a lot of merchandising, so I was feeling hopeful. I'm also taking chances on a number of relatively plain black long sleeve shirts & sweaters. I am thinking if I sell for even four dollars then I'm still making a profit.

Though apparently Mercari wants to fuck around & say they're revoking the removal of seller fees, which I think is fucking bullshit. They actually said nearly identical sentiments as Vinted on the buyer chooses courier & Poshmark on the reduced shipping costs, saying that so many people hated it & it hurt sellers in the long run... I feel like how ? How does removing selling costs hurt sellers at all ? So now they're nearly removing the full cost on buyers' usage to raise the seller fee. I'm more pissed off & irate about this. Which the change is going into effect the first full week of January. I reduced all my item costs on Mercari until then, but then I'll have to turn around as January starts & raise all the prices again... & what I especially don't get is I've bought at least two items since the seller fees were removed & I never saw a single issue when it came to buying, I did not feel like I was remotely being gouged on item costs.

So realistically now I'm back on Depop as my main since they'll be the only ones allowing me the most profit per any sale. & this means reducing prices further on Depop to make the items appear sexier there.

Speaking of, I forget if I mentioned this before, so it will be a damn shame if I already did & I'm just repeating myself. But of all resale platforms the hands down worst is ebay & one of the worst things about ebay is like nowhere else do I have even a fraction of the number of people trying to claim item not as described or looking for a refund. Literally no other platform is as bad as ebay. But when they can't actually prove item not as described then it's actually funny to argue with them because I had one person message me saying they wanted a refund because the item smelled like cigarette smoke & I said I don't smoke & they shut right the fuck up because you can't prove a smell but you also can't prove the cigarette smoke is from me either. Which to be clear, it was a dress & I never personally smoked in the dress. & another thing I will argue about cigarette smoke in particular is with my sinusitis & the fact that I do smoke, I don't tend to notice cigarette smoke on garments. But realistically, you can't exactly expect someone to know all smells on garments because like, if someone lives in a shithole for example, they aren't going to notice if the garment smells bad because they're used to always being around that smell. But just as I said with sinusitis, I have a hard time smelling things. I notice if something was chainsmoked in but imo just washing a garment gets the smell out. Like, people say cat piss is a smell that can't be washed out but I've sold items that had previously been pissed on & no one has ever said anything about it. Either way, I have never shipped a straight up dirty item, I wash everything before it even gets posted. It's just a weird accusation imo

I had two others recently where the one person bought a flannel shirt from me & then asked for a refund saying the shirt was plaid & not flannel but also pointed out a stain on the garment & my whole thing is I definitely would have done half a refund for the stain because that was completely my mistake & I was mortified that that even happened but when they said the garment was plaid I was so mad because I really thought they were trying to scam me & like say to ebay it's a linen type dress shirt as opposed to the more dense & soft fabric of a flannel shirt. I'm sitting here like yeah, the pattern is plaid but it's a flannel shirt. I went to look it up & it did turn out I was wrong but it was such a weird nitpick & I absolutely do believe their intention was to scam me but I turned it around entirely explaining there is an extremely frequent misconception of people referring to linen & stiff cotton dress shirts as flannel just based on a plaid pattern & that I understand flannel to be a softer & heavier material. Explaining further that I have my own preference for the softer materials so I am critical of the error. I pointed out that first of all, I'm just some guy selling clothes I don't want anymore, saying you really can't expect me to know all these niche textile details, especially when a lot of stores in the US are just going to sell the softer material & just call it a flannel. I apologized profusely for the stain but said they don't deserve a refund because I don't appreciate how they came at me to which they said they loved my response & appreciated my apology, conceding that yeah, not everyone is going to know all the intricacies of textiles & weaves.

My most recent being selling a very old & very worn shirt with holes in it. I did make a major mistake on this one as it was one of my extremely early listings. I had used that one nitpick statement of saying a “couple” holes rather than a “few.” & that was my ONLY mistake. Basically, the person claimed they bought the shirt for their daughter & claimed it couldn't be worn & that they wanted a refund. & I already gave this person a dollar off on the shirt in the first place so I felt like it was ridiculous to ask for a full refund after I already gave them a deal. I had looked at the holes in the shirt before shipping & kinda had the sentiment that if it is a big deal then I can do the refund, my issue ultimately being that nitpick, because the holes were mentioned in the listing. Not only that but the holes were only about a millimeter give or take, like, so tiny. My biggest concern was the age & quality of the shirt, I was more afraid the buyer would accidentally rip the shirt because of it's condition. To which I would absolutely have to refund. They would not shut up about the glaring difference of two more millimeter large holes in the shirt that I hadn't mentioned, insisting the shirt cannot be worn. & I'm sitting here like first of all it's two holes you can't even see, second of all, the shirt is sheer so it can't even be worn without a garment under it anyway. Finally pointing out, the listing was very clear about the item's quality, being very old & having holes, you agreed to that quality when you made the purchase, I haven't been dishonest about anything, you got exactly what was promised to you. In their meltdown they said that they didn't want to send the shirt back because there was nothing wrong with it & they still wanted to wear it... But I thought it was for your daughter & it couldn't be worn ?

At least what I love about these is you can just keep arguing because nothing matters, either they shut the fuck up & fuck off or they send the item back & when it comes down to do you hate the item so bad that you're willing to send it back ? Most of them all of a sudden love the item too much to part with it. Though like I said, I admit I feel extremely bad about the stain on the flannel, that was a complete & total accident & had they not tried to go above & beyond to really “get” me, I would have just given them half a refund. Even weirder, both of these people asked for a dollar off both garments before buying them. I wonder if it's a test to see if the seller looks like a “reasonable” person ?

I'm feeling tired & overwhelmed lately. It's been exhausting, especially after orchestrating all those clothes. But now I'm starting to feel giddy & impassioned to try to get as much listed as I can as quickly as possible. I feel as though I haven't had time to pursue my hobbies, every time I am not busy or feeling sick, I just want to lay down & never get back up. But I can't complain if the one thing I am doing is opening up the possibility to make more money. So I want to be on this as much as I can be.

Though now we're about to be in a brief cold snap. Just being in my room & I can't feel my fingers. So I feel like there are also things I want to do that I get halted from the severity of the cold. Though soon enough it will be back into the forties.

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miraculous-trinity-leo · 4 years ago

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Whacky Gotham, Goofy New York, and Chaotic Paris.

(part 1) (part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7)

Chapter 1: Genius Little Ladybug

★—–—–†–—–—★

It all started when Sabine Cheng and her parents moved from China to America, where she met a rich boy named Tony, they weren't the best of friends at first, but they would always get into crazy shenanigans because of Tony. Sabine always finding a way to get them out of it. After a while they were practically inseparable, they had each others backs, both in the good times, and the bad.

So when Tony lost both his mother and father in a tragic car accident, and had to take over his parents company, she was there to try and ease the pain. It helped a little, but the boy changed and blocked out many people, only keeping a select few close to him. His personality changed, and he started to act differently, it saddened Sabine, but she knew it was his way of coping with his lose.

She would oftentimes find him crying silently in his office. When Tony opened a branch in Paris France, he was paranoid something would go wrong when he wasn't there, so he had Sabine become a sort of co-CEO for the Paris branch. Over the many years of her being a sibling-in-everything-but-blood to Tony, her intelligence was much higher than everyone in the company, other than said boy.

She moved to Paris not long after, always keeping an eye on both the Paris branch and Tony ( because god knows what would happen if she didn't do so). She even met a baker named Tom Dupain. Eventually dating, and marrying him. Tony wasn't the most eager when he heard of Tom, but he accepted him as family (not because if he didn't Sabine would knock some sense into him). He practically exploded with excitement when he heard we would be an uncle a few years after Sabine's wedding.

Tony was there in the waiting room with Tom, when Sabine was having the child ( Tony denies not having a mini heart attack when the nurse came in). Both men looked at the beautiful child through the glass. Tony was put to tears when he read her name "Maria Dupain-Cheng" and was comforted by a teary Tom.

When Maria was 9 months old, her Uncle Tony came to spend time with her, and talk business with Sabine. None of them expected Maria to crawl her way into their conversation and say "Uncle Tony" in the sweetest most adorable laugh both adults had ever heard. Tony had a massive grin on his face, and gave Maria a big hug and lots of kisses saying " I knew i was your favorite hahaha, and you're only 9 months old. Sabine I think we got a little genius on our hands." Sabine was just as happy and told Tom to hurry and grab the camera.

"Come on say it one more time my dear Maria, show your papa who your favorite adult is" Tony said with a very wide grin.

Maria giggled at her uncle's happiness, clapping her hands. "Uncle Tony, Uncle Tony" Tom just smiled giving his baby girl a kiss and handing Tony 10 Euros.

Tony continued to visit his little genius niece over the years. Maria ended up getting the best education a kid could get, becuase his logic was " If she is a genius (which she is) then she is going to have the best education money can buy, for nothing is to much for my Little Genius Maria!" and with that she could officially be called the smartest kid in all of Paris... heck probably in all of Europe even! So when she gained a passion for fashion at 4, Tony didn't hesitate to get her, her very first (kid friendly) sewing set. By the time Maria was 5 she already knew how to speak and write in French, English, Spanish, Russian, and is learning Mandarin.

Maria had met Chloé when they were both 6, although they weren't really friends, they were polite to each other, which surprised a lot of the other kids their age. She had met Alix a few months later. She spent a lot of the time she wasn't studying with her friends, Alix would get in trouble with another kid on the playground, Chloé would criticise the other kid, and Maria would talk to Alix and then apologize to the other kid. Overall, they had a good dynamic going on, and they (as 7 year olds) promised to always have each others backs to the very end.

When Maria was 3½ months away from her 9th birthday, Tony was kidnapped. Maria just broke down, she wanted to help her Uncle, but she didn't know where he was or how she could help if she did. For three months Maria would only speak to Chloé and Alix (they were kinda shocked to find out she was related to THE Tony Stark). A few days before her birthday, Tony came to their home, with rolls of fabric, flowers, and 'I'm sorry cards'. Maria jumped into his arms crying asking what happened, and "If you're the smartest man on the Earth, why the Heck did it take you so long? How did you get out? Are any of your vital organs hurts? Do you need to go to the Hospital? An-"

"Hey slow down My Little Genius Maria, I'm ok. 1, They didn't really give me much to work with at first, and there is only so much a genius like myself can do with so little resources, and time before your Birthday. 2, I made an anime mecha suit and flew out guns a blazing. 3, Nothing I can't live without. and 4, No because I'm spending the week with you lot before a conference I have in about 10 days." He said while holding his small little genius in his arms.

Wiping away the tears she looked her Uncle in the eyes "Wait, you 'made an anime mecha suit and flew out guns a blazing?' How does it work? what's its power source? And why do you have a weird glowing device in your chest?!" He had a lot of explaining to do.

That week, in her words was 'The best week of her life.' She was really happy for the first time since the Tony-napping happened, although she was sad he had to go, she knew he was safe, and that she didn't have to worry (as much) now.

When Maria was 13, both Tony and Sabine decided to have her go to public school with her friends. After hearing this Maria called for a meeting, her two commanders (Alix and Chloé) came for the meeting, and had a talk on how she should go about her first day of public school, asking questions like 'How do non-homeschooled kids act? What are their personalities like? What interests do they have? Are some barbaric like Alix is sometimes? Will they like me? Am I allowed to talk to Chloé in or only out of class? What are the seating arrangements? Who do I sit next to?' the list goes on. They were all excited to finally all be in the same study environment, now all they had to do was wait for their first day.

•~—~—~—~—~—~—~•

The night before her first day Maria may or may not have slept well due to her excitement, she woke up a little later than she ever would have preferred, getting breakfast, her clothes, the 'greeting sweets' (as Alix called them) and heading out in a slight panic.

On her way out she noticed an elderly man with a cain crossing the street, and a car coming a little faster than what was allowed, she pulled the man out of the cars way without losing any of the sweets, after making sure the man was ok, she gave him a sweet before saying good day and heading over to school. She never noticed the man walking away without the use of his cain.

She still got to class on time, when her teacher walked in she greeted everyone in the class "Bonjour, je m'appelle Maria Dupain-Cheng, c'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer! (Hello, my name in Maria Dupain-Cheng, it is a pleasure to meet you!)" after the introductions she sat down in the empty seat next to Alix, both giving a fist bump, and a smile to Chloé, who looked away as if she didn't care (the girl had an image to keep after all). When class was over she handed out the sweets and went with her friends to lunch. During lunch, one of the other students from a different class was mocking one of their classmates that Maria remembered as Ivan, for having a crush on Mylène and not saying how he really feels to her. Ivan ran off into one of the locker rooms, and Maria decided to go and comfort him, she explained that she overheard what happened and that he should try and tell Mylène about his feelings, listing many different things he could do or say, and that he should stay positive.

Ivan thanked Maria afterwards and went off to write a song for Mylène. Ivan later showed Mylène the song he wrote for her, but was teased by other students near them, Ivan ran away not wanting to be embarrassed more.

Back in the classroom Alix and Maria are sitting and talking when everyone hears crashing and screams outside, the class looked out to see a giant rock thing destroying everything on its way to the school. The teachers sent the kids home in an attempt to keep them safe.

When Maria got home she noticed a small box with writing she didn't recognize, she carefully opened it, instantly releasing a glow of bright red-ish pink light.

"Greetings Maria Dupain-Cheng, I am Tikki, the Ladybug Kwami of creation and good Luck, it is a pleasure to meet you." Maria couldn't believe her eyes "Mon dieu..." was all she could say, before going full interrogation mode "You're a Kwami? What is that? How are you floating like that? How am I able to understand you? Do you have some sort of ability to communicate in any language?How did you fit in this box? w-"

"There is no time, Paris needs you! I can only explain the powers I grant and how to use them, so please listen carefully."

•~—~—~—~—~—~—~•

Soon Maria was running in a red suit with black spots and amor. She ended up facing the 'akuma' as Tikki called it in a stadium, meeting her partner (a blonde furry she decided) for the first time.

"Bonjour m'lady, so what's the plan to take this thing down?"

Without hesitation she explained her plan " The plan is for you to have your Cataclysm ready, I'll give you a signal when it's your-"

"Cataclysm!" The boy proceeded to use his ONE attack on a GOAL POST!

"I said to wait for a SIGNAL! Now you only have five minutes before you power-off."

"Oops" The blonde was really wasting her more useful braincells. After the boy was thrown out of the stadium, Maria was left to fend for herself, and she did really well, considering this was her first non(but sort of) official villain fight, up until she lost her footing and was knocked into the side of the stadium. The akuma was gone before she could get back, more and more people were turned to stone, but it showed just where Stoneheart was heading.

She arrived at the Eiffel Tower, where blonde was fighting stone people, he just managed to get away and actually listened to the plan this time.

They defeated Stoneheart, Maria gave her speech to the villain, and did a fist bump (though at this point Maria just wanted to get some sleep), when a reporter came to interview them.

"What are your names, and where did you come from?"

"My name's Chat Noir an-"

"Ladybug, and we're hear to protect Paris from Moth-Man, as much as we would love to give you a bit more details, we don't have much time at the moment" right on que their Miraculous' beeped signalling they had 2 minutes left " Stay safe, and positive, Bug-Out. "

•~—~—~—~—~—~—~•

"Well done Maria!"

"Thanks Tikki." and with that Maria went downstairs to get something to eat, when she saw her parents watching the news.

"Earlier today Paris gained a villain and two heroes: Ladybug, and Chat Noir. Many of our viewers submitted pictures and videos, but only one of Ladybug came out clear."

"Thank you Ladybug and Chat Noir for protecting us, bonne journée à Paris."

.................

"Maria you're taking self-defense classes starting tomorrow" Sabine spoke, though Maria didn't have any complaints, plus it'll help when fighting akumas so it's a win win.

"Yes maman."

•~~~~~later in Maria's room~~~~~•

"Ok, so you're basically goddess of creation personified into a cute little Ladybug creature?"

"Kwami, but yes."

"And you've existed since basically the Big Bang?"

"Correct."

"... how are you able to float like that? How are we able to talk without any ancient god language in the way? And what other kinds of um kwamis are there?"

"I float with magic. Yes their is a language only for the Kwami, but we've learned every other language in existence, so there would never be an issue with communication. And to your last question, there are many different kinds of Miraculi all over the world, some even across the universe, so I am unable to list every single one in existence, but there are just as many Miraculi out there as there are starts in the sky."

"Impressive... does that mean I could learn magic?"

"As a human you are limited to what you can do with magic, but you have a strong creation soul. So yes it is possible for you to learn basic magic, I can teach you some life magic to help you heal quicker if you get hurt outside the suit. You can also learn other types of basic magic based on what Miraculous you are most aligned to. Surprisingly you have a close affinity to most of my brothers and sisters that are here in Paris."

"Are they in the hands of other Miraculous users?"

"... aside from Chat Noir, only two: one belongs to the Guardian, and the other to Hawkmoth."

"What are their names?"

"...Wayzz is Kwami of Protection, and is the partner of the Guardian. The other is Nooroo Kwami of Transmission, Hawkmoths Kwami.

"Ok, so then I assume the 'Guardian' is who you were with until now, right?"

"That is correct."

"And how was I chosen exactly?"

"The Guardian chose you because he saw your kindness in action, and sensed your strong Creation Soul, he has only ever been wrong once, but I can tell you will be a great Ladybug, maybe even one of the few who achieved a higher sence of life."

"... I feel like you kind of described a Sage, also how would he have seen an act of kindness, I mean, I got my things, went out helped an older man with a cain, wait."Maria squinted her eyes at Tikki as if looking for something.

"The elderly man's the Guardian isn't he?"

"..."

"I get it, you don't have to tell me, it's all apart of the 'plot' like some show, I get it. Welp, good night Tikki, have to get up early tomorrow."

"Good night Maria." Tikki never messed up so badly before, then again she never had a user with such a strong Creation Soul before either... Maria is something special.

•~—~—~—~—~—~—~•

And Tikki was right, she excelled at Life Magic, learning a fair bit of healing, luck and slight plant manipulation and communication magic. Tikki wasn't sure if she should be proud of her Bug, or scared at her fast learning skills.

A few weeks passed and Maria was thankful for the self-defense classes, she even started doing her own training routine with Tikki guiding her. She didn't like that her partner was a flirt, it got distracting and almost got Chat killed a few times. She often wondered 'what the hell did I do in my past life to get a partner like this?'

•~—~—~—~—~—~—~•

Tony Stark was called by Sabine to meet her earlier than they had planned, she informed him that Paris now has a villain and two heroes.

"Ok, so what's the problem? We agreed to put Maria in self-defense classes so she would be safe... is it a boy?! Don't tell me it's a boy, she's to young to be dating!"

"It's not about a boy."

"Then what is this about?"

"She's Ladybug, *sigh* I swear she gets it from you Tony. She learned it from your dumb@ss, and it didn't help the need to protect people she loves when you got kidnapped. I need you to teach her how to be a good hero, good combat strategist, and to give her your support. She already has a tactical mind, I'm proud in a way that she shares your bravery."

"Ffffffffudge... ok, where is she?"

"Upstairs."

•~—~—~—~—~—~—~•

After a slightly awkward conversation Maria started to get even more training, and became a pretty much badass on the field, she incorporated the known fighting styles of: Black Widow (her favorite hero), Captain America, Deadpool (favorite hero to some degree), Daredevil, Wolverine, and some moves from famous villains like, Kraven The Hunter, Red Skull, Doctor Doom, Scorpion, Shocker, and Taskmaster ( her favorite villain). And she used ALL of those skills in battle, it was damn impressive to watch, and then Sabine had a talk with Tony.

〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜Bonus〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜

"Ok Tony wtf? I asked you to teach her how to fight for protection when she's out there, But you turned her into a complete badass, I mean none of the akumas have lasted more than 10 minutes with her! I want to hug you and kick your @ss at the same time."

" Sorry not sorry Sabine, but she is our Genius Little Ladybug after all."

•—–—–†–—–—•

First fic, wahoo (mario stile), hope you're all having an Absolutely wonderful day, stay safe, and stay positive, BUG-OUT!🐞💮🐞

〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜 Tag List 〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜

1st place★: @animegirlweeb ☕

2nd place★: @jumpingjoy82

3rd place★: @zalladane

4th place★: @jayjayspixiepop

5th place★: @arty-shadow-morningstar

6th place★: @smol-book-nerd

7th place★: @irontimetravelflower

8th place★: @fandom-trapped-03

9th place★: @meme991001

10th place★: @buginetye

11th place★: @blackroserelina

12th place★: @jessigurl-design

13th place★: @adrestar

14th place★: @moon5608

15th place★: @little-bluestar

16th place★: @batgirljr72

17th place★: @myazael

18th place★: @our-preciousss

19th place★: @wolf2118

20th place★: @nyx-in-line

21st place★: @kking13

22nd place★: @lunerlover2024

23rd place★: @moonlightstar64

24th place★: @corporeal-terrestrial

25th place★: @kashlyn

26th place★: @tbehartoo

27th place★: @heart-charming

28th place★: @solangelo252

29th place★: @t1dwarrior-of-earth

30th Place★: @lady-phoenix-of-tardis

@lupagrimm

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45percenterthen · 4 years ago

Text

Belated bday fic for bearer of cursed fruit facts @seraphlm and thee plant dad cas truther @cactuscas !! Love u guys v much, happy bday <3 (ao3 link here)

“Fuck’s a horoscope again? It’s like, stars and shit, right?”

He bumps Cas’ elbow, who’s squinting at one of his fern-looking-things like he’s experimenting with horticultural telepathy. The saga of the fern-thing has been turbulent, to say the least. It’s wilting a bit, leaves curling in on themselves like tiny fists. Cas has spent the past few days carting it from one window ledge to another, muttering to himself about humidity levels with a familiar air of irritated devotion. Dean reckons the whole underground bunker situation probably isn’t helping. It’s well travelled, though, for a plant. Dean thinks it should be more grateful.

Cas nods, releasing a leaf with a sigh and sitting down next to Jack. “Indeed. Stars and shit.”

Jack’s engrossed in some magazine, finger tracing the words as he reads. Cas reaches for the edge of the page to hold it taut for him, and Dean can practically see his other hand itching for his phone. Diagnosis time for the fern-thing. Dean’s never seen a favorites bar so wholly taken up by gardening websites. Dean’s pretty sure the definition of true love is pausing Die Hard to read an article about potting soil drainage.

“Do you want to hear yours, Dean? It’s for this week.”

“Sure, kiddo.” To be honest, Dean thinks the concept of fate can very much, actually, go fuck itself. Jack looks delighted though, so he keeps it to himself. He stirs a bit of extra butter into the eggs because that’s the way Jack likes them, dutifully not looking at Cas to avoid a depressing conversation about his cholesterol levels.

“Oh! It says you’re lucky this week, Dean!”

“Awesome, bud! Time to stock up on the scratch cards, eh?”

Sam chooses that moment to come lumbering in. The state of his hair suggests a sleepless night, or that a recent localized hurricane that targeted his bedroom only.

“Hi Sam! We’re reading horoscopes. Dean’s an Aquarius.”

“Oh, cool.” Eileen had been delayed on a salt and burn with some of the new-hunter-network people. Sam looks suitably mopey about it, forlorn housewife that he is. “Mercury’s in marmalade, and all that.”

“Aquarius is ruled by Uranus,” Jack continues, and Sam instantly chokes. On air, apparently. Bastard.

“One more time, Jack? Dean’s ruled by his –”

“You’re a child, Samantha.” Dean looks around for the nearest something-painful-not-fatal to throw at him. Plant’s a no. Instant divorce. He glances at the eggs, but decides he doesn’t want to spend his morning getting egg yolk outta the tile grouting.

“Dude, oh my – I should’ve just checked your horoscope,” Sam walks over to the fridge, catching the Mary Berry’s Baking Bible that Jody sent them for Christmas in mid-air. “Would’ve saved us a talk.”

“Eat your pineapple and shut up, man.”

“Did you know that pineapples are technically berries?” Jack says. Dean wonders if Cas introduced him to WebMD-for-plants. Or maybe this is just a side effect of being The New God on the block. Berry omniscience. “Well. The outside bit is. Bananas are berries too.”

“That’s weird,” Sam closes the fridge door. Stares into his bowl like he’s offended. Dean’s offended Sam eats nothing but fruit in the morning. “After the heaven rebuild. You should, like, fix berries.”

Jack turns to Cas solemnly. “Should I fix berries?”

“Perhaps you should concentrate on heaven, first. Then we can see about berries.”

“I don’t want to ruin the fabric of our established universe,” Jack says, and Dean’s struck, once again, with the sudden realisation that he’s making eggs for the most powerful entity in Creation. Mondays, man.

“I don’t think Chuck had any such purity of intent in mind,” Cas says darkly, pouring more milk into God’s glass for strong bones and teeth, and yeah, Dean’s pretty keen to steer Cas away from that particular line of conversation.

“Hey, what’s Cas’ horo-whatever?” He takes the eggs off the heat and walks over to the table, leaning over to see what the hell magazine this is, actually. Looks Rowena-y. Is the Queen of Hell sending his son-God care packages? That’s one way to establish diplomatic relations.

He rests his hands on Cas’ shoulders, stroking his thumbs at the neckline of his t-shirt when he feels tension. He decides against pressing a kiss to Cas’s hair. Just ‘cause he’s with a dude now, doesn’t mean he’s gonna be all gay about it. Cas’ left hand comes up to cover his own. Their rings clink.

“Cas doesn’t have a birthday, though.” Jack frowns at the page slightly, apparently looking for the section on fallen angel anomalies.

“Then we’ll have to pick one –” Dean starts, just as Cas says, “September eighteenth.”

Cas tips his head back against Dean’s chest, peers up at him. He’s got dried toothpaste at the corner of his mouth. Dean grins stupidly at his upside-down face. “September eighteenth, yeah.” Something swoops in his chest. Cas is earnest, and it’s unbearable. He loves at full volume, and Dean’s as grateful as he is undeserving. He squeezes Cas’ shoulder. Tradition, and all that.

Jack taps the page. “It says you’re a Virgo, Cas!”

They’re still staring at each other as Jack starts reading aloud. Dean brushes hair off Cas’ forehead and thinks, for once, he’s landed himself the permanent kind of happy. Dean’s pretty sure he’s loved him for years and years, quietly, achingly.

There’s the sound of cutlery against ceramic, and Dean looks up to check Sammy’s not weeping into his fruit bowl out of sheer girlish pride or whatever. He’d made it six words into his best man speech before the waterworks. Dean’s never letting him live it down.

⁂

“So,” Dean says later, after Sam’s gone to collect Eileen from town, and Jack’s off on heavenly refurb duty. “My lucky week, huh?”

Dean circles his arms round Cas’ midriff. Lets his chin rest on his shoulder, because he can, and also to check Cas isn’t half-assing the washing up.

“Apparently so.”

Dean hums. It’s funny. They’re married. And yet moments like these, the big ones, still manage to make him a bit nervous. It’s stupid. He’s hardly gonna say no. But Dean supposes they’ve never managed to get anything in the right order. Two deathbed confessions amidst a decade of friendship. An ‘I love you too’ echoing off brick in an empty room. Two kids co-parented before they even kissed, and they were already living together when they started dating. Someone get Nicholas Sparks on the phone.

“Perfect week to put an offer down on a house then, right? That one on the lake?”

Cas drops a fork into the bubbles. He turns his head to reply and Dean takes it as an opportunity to kiss what’s within reach. The smile lines around his eye, his temple greying with the proof that Cas loves him. He’s all in. Dean is too, terrifyingly.

“Really?”

“Yeah, dude.” Dean nods at the fern guy. “Your plants would appreciate the sunlight, right? And there’s a room for Jack.”

Cas spins in his arms, leaning against the sink to look Dean in the eye. Dean grabs at his soapy palm, intertwining their fingers, confident in his sappiness when no one’s watching.

“I know I always say Sammy didn’t make the most of his college experience, but dorming in my forties isn’t exactly what I meant –”

“You’ll miss him, though.”

“Of course, man. Lived with Sam my whole life. But,” Dean relinquishes the hand to cup Cas’ face, “I kinda wanna do my own thing now. With you. So, move in with me, Mr. Winchester? Somewhere… overground?”

It’s so off-your-feet sweepingly romantic Dean feels like he deserves a medal. Maybe this is their karmic justice after the proposal debacle.

Cas is smiling at him, soft and sweet. “Okay, Dean.” He puts wet hands around his waist and Dean doesn’t even care that it’s seeping through his t-shirt. “Lake house it is.”

Dean leans in, kisses him three times in response. He lingers on the last one, smiling against Cas’ mouth. Cas knows what he means.

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #zoesarahbday #deancas fic #bro I will shoehorn zoe’s cursed pineapple knowledge into this fic if it kills me #my writing

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imaginationintowords · 3 years ago

Text

Folklore [song series]

peace

Modern Day AU! Steve Rogers x OC!Reader

Plot: Inspired by Taylor Swift’s new album Folklore. The story follows the timeline of Bucky and Elizabeth’s life throughout the years

[word count: 2265]

[a/n: sorry for the wait. it was my birthday last weekend so i was just chilling. but here it is, just in time for the anniversary of folklore's release. the final chapter of my folklore song series. i started this last fall, and it's now the end. thank you to all who read the story and commented and showed it love. you don't know how much that means to me, that people liked it so much. thank you for joining this journey with me, and I hope the ending is a nice little bow to finish it off]

Series Masterlist

Age: 27

Year: July 2021 [two weeks after engagement]

Location: New York

Two weeks after their engagement, Steve and Elizabeth were still living off of the high from their engagement.

They were currently spending some time in New York. Liz had just graduated from law school that spring, while Steve was still working at the same architect firm. That was actually also why they were in New York.

The company was opening another branch in New York. Steve was offered a promotion, but it would only be available at the New York office.

In the few years since Steve graduated, he's been excelling in the architect world. He's really made a name for himself. Last year he was named the "hottest" up and coming architect. Ever since then he's been very busy. His boss gave him the month off, to propose to Liz, and to take a tour of the new office.

Steve told Liz that they'd only move back if that's what she really wanted. Especially since she just finished law school, and she still needs to take the state bar exam. She would need to figure that out soon, because the NY state bar exam date was closing in on her.

She and Steve decided a month in NY would help them both decide if moving back would be best. If they did decide to move back Steve would already have job waiting for him. Liz on the other hand might not.

Luckily for her, Loki was currently working at a law firm in NY. He was able to get her an interview while she was in town. He couldn't promise her a position, as there were a lot of people up for the job, some had even interned there. But Liz still went to the interview giving it her best.

Loki and Scott moved to NY two years ago, both their jobs taking them there. They ended up eloping right before their move, two years after Thor and Wanda got married.

Thor and Wanda had officially been married for four years. They were also considering the move over to the east coast. Both of their families lived out there and it just made more sense to them, especially with them trying to start a family.

Family was a massive pro for Steve and Liz as well. Moving back would mean seeing their loved ones a lot more. Especially now with Poppy about to turn six, part of them felt like they were missing out on their goddaughter's life. Steve also missed Bucky.

Bucky was doing really well in his career. He's currently working as a sound engineer for a movie studio. A big step up from the local recording studio he started in.

He was currently looking for a place to move to in Manhattan. Now that Poppy was about to be six, and she was already going to school in the city, it was time they officially made the move.

Actually he's no his girlfriend had decided to move in together.

Dr. Jane Foster is a pediatric fellow. She was in her first year of fellowship at a private practice in Manhattan.

Bucky and Jane met three years ago, through Sam Wilson. Bucky was hesitant at first to date, because he's a single father, and his main priority has always been Poppy since the day she was born. But

Sam had convinced Bucky to go on just one date. One date was all it took. Bucky was immediately hooked. Same went for Jane.

Jane was incredibly understanding of Bucky's situation. And it also helped that she loved children.

Jane met Poppy four months into the relationship and since then everything has been going great for the three of them. Jane instantly fell in love with Poppy and Poppy loved Jane a lot. Bucky had truly never felt happier. When he was alone with his girls he felt complete. When Bucky brought up the idea of officially making the move, he and Jane made the decision to move in together. They were practically already living together at that point. They were all very excited about this next step in their relationship.

Steve and Elizabeth were watching Poppy for the day while Bucky and Jane worked. They decided to spend their day in the city, walking around what could possibly be their new neighborhood. Poppy was loving having them around, and talking up their ears about school and all the friends she has made.

Around lunch time Poppy started to get hungry and sleepy. They decided to stop at a café and get some lunch.

Liz went inside while Steve and Poppy sat outside. Poppy ended up falling asleep on Steve while they waited for Liz. Steve found himself thinking about the possibility of living there.

Truth be told part of him did want to move back. He genuinely missed the New York City way of living. As he relaxes into the sounds of the city, he hears his name being called out. He looks straight ahead, looking for whoever called him, or if they were calling another Steve. As his eyes scanned the crowd, he met the eyes of the last person he would ever think he would see again.

He was completely shocked.

"Peggy?" Steve questioned, as the woman stopped in front of the table.

"I thought that was you," she smiled, "Wow. You most certainly aren't 17 anymore."

Peggy checks him out, as he stayed in his seat. She wasn't being subtle about it either.

Steve cleared his throat, noticing the way Peggy was eyeing him up and down, "Well it has been a decade wince we've last seen each other."

Peggy glances at the sleeping Poppy in his lap.

"Is this your daughter?" She asks pointing at Poppy, then glancing at his left hand noticing there wasn't a ring on his finger.

"Oh, no. This is my goddaughter. She's actually Bucky's," Steve tells her.

"No way," she gasps, surprised by this information. At that moment Elizabeth walks out of the cafe with a number plaque for the table.

"Oh my gosh! Elizabeth?" Peggy greeted.

"Peggy?" Liz asked confused at this older version of Peggy Carter.

"Yeah," she smiled.

Elizabeth put the number plaque on the table, Peggy catches the shimmer of her engagement ring.

"Oh wow! Congratulations," she says grabbing Liz's left hand, "You have a really beautiful daughter. I'm so happy for you and Bucky. High school sweethearts, making it til the end."

Liz was confused, she looked at Steve, hoping he could get them out of this awkward, and slightly uncomfortable situation.

"Um actually, this isn't her daughter, and she's not engaged or married to Bucky," Steve says, "We're actually the ones engaged."

Peggy was taken by surprise at this brand new information, not expecting to hear those words come out of Steve's mouth.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. My mistake," she apologizes, embarrassed.

"Well Congratulations," she awkwardly says, glancing at her watch, "I better be on my way. But hey here's my card. I moved back a couple of months ago. But we should all get dinner and catch up. There's clearly a lot I have missed."

She hands Liz the business card and walks away.

"Well that was random," Steve awkwardly laughs.

"What are the odds," Liz says sitting across from Steve, "Didn't even know she was back."

Liz cleared her throat and tried to focus on the city around her.

Con: Peggy Carter.

Steve and Elizabeth continued on with their day. At the end of the day, they dropped Poppy off at Jane's apartment and headed to their hotel.

Throughout their day there was a slight tension between the couple, it didn't go unnoticed by the both of them. Neither could figure out what the tension was. They both knew it had to do with the sudden appearance of Peggy Carter.

They laid in their hotel bed, each with a book in their hands. Their nightly read.

Elizabeth had a hard time focusing on what she was reading. She tried to force away thoughts of Peggy Carter out of her head. She flipped the page and stopped when she noticed her engagement ring. She took a long stare at it.

"Do you regret it?" She asks, turning her head towards him.

"Regret what?" He asks putting his book down and turning to face her.

"You and Peggy breaking up," she says, "Do you regret it?"

Steve is taken back by Liz's question.

"No," he shakes his head, "I don't regret it."

"Do you ever wonder what you're life would've been like had she stayed?"

Steve ponders over the question, "Truthfully? No. Once we said our final goodbyes in London, that was it. I never once gave it another thought. I closed that chapter as soon as I boarded my flight. Not that the breakup didn't hurt. Because it did. I just knew then that she wasn't my future. I never thought I would see her again."

"But you did," Liz quietly says.

"Yeah, which was weird," he says.

"I wouldn't blame you if you wanted out of the relationship to be with her," she says tearing up.

"What? No," Steve quickly says, sitting straight up, "I don't want that."

"I just mean, if you wanted to. I would completely understand. She was your first love."

"Yes, she was. But I don't love her," he says, "I know this is only coming up because we saw her today, and there's been this out of awkward tension in the air ever since. But I don't want to be with Peggy."

Liz glances down at her engagement ring again, trying to hide the tears of insecurity rolling down her face.

"Look at me," he softly says, placing his hand over her's, "I love you and only you. I asked you to marry me because you're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. You and only. Peggy doesn't mean anything to me. I haven't even thought of her since high school. You mean more to me than anything in this world. Especially more than some high school ex-girlfriend. You, Elizabeth are my entire world."

"Why would you even think that?" He gently asks

"Just seeing her and the way she looked at you before she realized we were engaged," she says, "She wanted you. Then my mind started to wonder if maybe that was a sign for you two to get back together. And maybe you'd realize you regret proposing to me."

"There isn't an ounce of regret in me that makes me feel like I'm making the wrong decision," he assures her, "There is no one else for me. You are it. Proposing to you wasn't for confidence. Proposing to you was the only thing I've ever felt so sure of. It was the only thing I've ever done that I didn't second guess. You are the only thing I've ever felt so sure of."

"This," he grabs her and and gestures between the both of them, "Is where I want to be for the rest of my life. This brings me a peace like no other. You are my peace."

Age: 27

Year: May 2022

Location: Somewhere in Upstate New York

"You are my peace," Steve sniffles, as he holds Elizabeth's hands, tears flowing down both of their faces as they stood up in front of their closest friends and families, reciting their vows.

"I don't think I would be where I am today without you and your continued support. I meant what I said years ago about following you wherever you went. All I ever want is to be by your side. Nothing else has ever meant to me as you do. My future doesn't exist if you're not apart of it. Nothing matters if I don't have you. Since the day we met, twenty years ago, I knew you would play such an important part in my life. We clearly aren't the same people we were then. Yet over the many years you haven't strayed away from being this kind supportive, understanding person. To know one day our future kids will have that as a mother, overwhelms me with joy and love. They will be the most luckiest kids in the world.

"You are it for me. You are my world. I know everyone says weddings and getting married is the start of a new chapter, but it doesn't really feel lie that for us. It just feel like our story is continuing. There's no end in sight. And I'll make sure of that, by being supportive, kind to you for the rest of our lives. There won't be a time where you ever have to question my love for you. Because Elizabeth Sanchez, you are love."

Elizabeth has tears streaming down her face. She didn't' care how she looked. The only person that mattered was the man standing before her, professing his never ending love for her.

The pastors signaled her, that it was now her turn to speak.

"I figured I'd try and keep it short and sweet, because you know exactly how I feel about you Steve," she begins, "There's only one thing I want to say, more so I want to thank you. Thank you for giving me love. An unconditional love that never seems to fade. Since day one of our relationship. You've been patient. You always say I'm the supportive one, but you fail to see that you are too. Even more than me. You've always been willing to drop everything, not just for me but for all the ones you love. Anyone who has Steve Rogers' love, should count themselves as being incredibly special. I am the luckiest pet one out of them all because I get to be the recipient of your love every single day. I am the one who gets to spend the rest of their life calling you my husband. My partner. My life. You've shown me a love like no other. So thank-you Steve, for loving me."

Folklore series taglist: @iheartsebandchris @perksofbeingabookworm @atomicsoulcollecto @void-imaginations @stumbleonmywords

Permanent taglist: @rosegolddivinity @definitelynotafangirl-blog1 @1awesomeash @princess-evans-addict @24kbratz @introvertatitsfinest @imagine-all-the-imagines @also-fangirlinsweden @rororo06 @getlostinyourparadise @small-death-and-codeine @bonkyboinkybucky @sincerely-kizzy @loudthoughts-softspoken @aquariuslavenderhoney @cherriesanwine @goalexis123 @sassyslytherinshai @loving-books-is-easier @katiaw2 @xoxabs88xox @osugahunnyicedtea @katierpblogg @thefridgeismybestie @maybeimkate @lou-la-lou @demirunner @celineann91 @marie1115 @fangirl-couch-potato @lokisironthrone @daughterofthenight117

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soulmate-game · 4 years ago

Text

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Day 2: Father Daughter Bonding

Marinette had known her father was Bruce Wayne since she was thirteen, and the man showed up on her balcony one day in full bat-attire exactly one month after Hawkmoth appeared. He had apparently spent the whole month sorting through all of his magical contacts and trying to figure out who the heroes were so he could offer help—only to realize that the apparent leader of the duo of heroes was his biological daughter that he never met or told about his existence.

Okay, so the majority of the month was actually spent on him trying to figure out how to deal with the daughter he had never met becoming a superhero, even a leader of a team, without his assistance or influence whatsoever. But. Regardless. It ended up with him taking a Zeta tube at midnight in Gotham, and ending up on Marinette’s balcony as she got ready for school.

That was when Marinette learned about Bruce Wayne being both Batman and her biological father. After, of course, a brief heart attack at seeing a stranger outside her trap door.

But besides that short visit, Bruce had largely respected Marinette’s order request to stay out of Paris. He understood, after all he held a similar policy for metas in Gotham. Didn’t mean he was happy about leaving Marinette to deal with her supervillain without any reliable backup, but he stayed out of the city nonetheless.

But, there was Marinette’s lack of training to see to. She was not completely untrained, she knew at least two types of martial arts pretty well and her gymnastics ability was second only to Dick himself. But for a superhero? No, she needed a lot of teaching still. So Bruce had arranged for her to spend some holidays and a weekend or two that she could get away with over at Gotham (via Zeta tubes or other portal of course) for him and the other Bats to personally instruct her. Now, three annoying years later without any solid evidence to land Gabriel in the brig (though they all knew by then that he was definitely Hawkmoth), Marinette decided to switch things up.

She landed on a gargoyle’s head, on one of her rare patrols with Batman. She wasn’t Ladybug there, instead deciding to go by the simple name Rouge Wing, as both a play on her native language and the fact that red bats are considered lucky in China. She didn’t wear her Miraculous on these patrols, instead using the rare opportunity to develop her natural skills. And prove once and for all to her stupid brother that, yes, she could keep up with him. And, no, it didn’t matter if she didn’t grow up in a temple learning how to kill, she can still hang him upside down by his ankles if he upsets her one more time—.

Right. The gargoyle.

Batman landed on the rooftop behind her, raising an eyebrow under his cowl. “Don’t you usually make fun of me for perching like that?” He asked, crossing his arms. Robin landed on that same rooftop a moment later, choosing just to sit on the lip of the building and swing one leg lazily over the edge. He and Marinette tended to get along at least half the time nowadays, which Bruce considered An Accomplishment. Marinette only hummed, blue eyes hidden behind her red domino mask as she gazed over the dark city.

“I’ve just been thinking—“

“Nothing new there,” Robin interrupted. “Should I be on the lookout before you run into a wall again?”

Marinette tossed one of her batarangs at him, which he only had to duck to dodge. Sticking her tongue out like a Mature Teenager, she continued. “You guys do things really differently here in Gotham. Which makes sense, of course, because Gotham is a lot different than Paris. But…”

“But?” Batman prodded, deciding to sit on the rooftop and lean one arm on the lip of it so he could lean towards his blood children.

“But it’s been three years. You hardly ever get out of Gotham besides JL meetings or missions, Dad. And, well, if you promise to keep a handle on your emotions—“

Robin snorted, before realizing where this discussion was going. His eyes widened behind his mask in disbelief. “No way.”

Marinette glared at him half heartedly for a moment before completely turning around on her gargoyle and facing Batman. “We don’t see each other enough. And it’s not easy for me to come to Gotham all the time. So maybe, just this once, you can come to Paris and patrol with me? Next week, maybe?”

Bruce couldn’t talk for a moment, just staring at his daughter with his mouth slightly agape. Marinette had been very specific: no non-miraculous heroes in Paris. Period. Not him, not Robin, nobody, because she wasn’t sure she and her partner would be able to win against an Akumatized hero with years of experience.

Robin tossed a birdarang at Batman, which he dodged on instinct. “Well, he’s still alive,” he remarked to his sister. Rouge Wing had scooted closer somewhere during Batman’s shock, looking minorly concerned.

“What brought this on?” Bruce finally asked, making his daughter sigh in relief at the proof of his consciousness.

“Well, multiple reasons. For one, I know now that I am capable of at least restraining you until I have the chance to break an akumatized item, so there aren’t too many worries there anymore. And I only see you once every month if I’m lucky—“

“And her birthday is next week,” Robin supplied easily, smirking at the glare his sister sent him at that.

“Traitor,” Marinette grumbled, puffing out her cheeks a little. Considering the two of them were only a month apart in age, with Damian being the older of the two, it wasn’t unusual for Bruce to forget about one or the other. Summer birthdays in general were hard for him to remember, what with all the spring birthdays that he strained to keep up with.

“Oh, oh,” Bruce sighed, rubbing a hand over his cowl-covered forehead. “That’s right. I’m sorry, of course I’m more than happy to visit Paris next week. Maybe we can even do more than one day?”

Marinette relaxed, nodding. “That would be nice. Just, not in your civilian persona. Bruce Wayne is too recognizable, even in Paris, but a visit from Batman would be shrugged off as just us getting help. But, in order for everything to work, it would probably have to be a day patrol.”

Batman flinched a bit. That’s right— his daughter was a day hero. He wasn’t looking forward to patrolling in full daylight, but he owed her this at least.

“I’ll be there.”

—*—*—*—*—*

When Batman arrived on Marinette’s balcony (actually expected, this time), it was to see the poor girl covered head to toe in ribbons and balloons that all had some variation of “sweet sixteen,” “happy birthday,” and “16!” On them. She hadn’t even been able to transform yet, her Kwami just munching on a cupcake and giggling at her expense. She even had a party hat on her head, but judging by the way she was trying to wrestle it off it hadn’t been put on her head willingly.

“Need help?” Bruce asked when he entered her room, peeling his cowl back and grinning a little at the awkward sight she made. Marinette groaned, looking at him with the most pitiful expression ever.

“Please! Maman and Papan always like celebrating my birthday, and they’ve gone over the top a few times, but I think they went a bit…” she pulled at one of her pigtails, releasing a waterfall of glitter. “Crazy this year.”

Bruce chuckled, walking over and helping to untangle the various ribbons, streamers, and other celebratory restraints that had trapped the petite Parisian. Then, once she was completely untangled and only stubborn confetti and glitter remained, Bruce hung a small box to one of her pigtails by one of it’s bow-loops. She let out a surprised laugh, rolling her eyes at him before pulling it off and looking at it properly.

On a little white card it said: “Happy 16th, Marinette!” In Bruce’s handwriting. It was a small, black box with silver ribbon tied around it in a bow. Marinette couldn’t help but snort at the color choice, sending her dad a knowing look that he dutifully ignored. Carefully removing the bow and unwrapping it, she opened the box to see two little silver, bat-shaped hair pins. Carefully taking them out, she could feel that they were real metal, and surprisingly sharp.

“You can wear them however you want in your hair, to hold your bangs back or in your pigtails,” Brice decided to explain. “They have trackers in them—no, don’t give me that look. They only activate if you tap SOS on one of them. If you hold down the back of the clip, you can extend small blades if you ever need to cut yourself out of a trap or defend yourself.”

“You gave me mini batarangs for my hair,” Marinette teased, but immediately clipped them to her pigtails. “I love them. Ready for patrol?”

“Whenever you are,” he agreed before pulling his cowl back down.

One transformation and some travel later, and they were at the Eiffel Tower to plan their route.

“Obviously, Paris is too big for me to patrol the whole place on my own alongside school and Akumas,” Ladybug explained. “Even with Chat Noir’s help, it’s too big. So, just like you guys back in Gotham, we have routes that we rotate out. But the police here actually do their job and can handle most criminals, so our patrols follow a different logic than in Gotham.”

Batman nodded, holding his chin as he considered that. “That makes sense. Instead of focusing so much on the more crime-heavy parts of the city, especially since Hawkmoth hasn’t akumatized any criminals yet, it makes more sense to focus on areas around schools, tourist sites and other hotspots for recreation, and the general residential area.”

Marinette nodded. After talking a bit more about how she and Chat normally patrolled, and why, they actually hit the rooftops. It only took thirty minutes before Marinette had to intervene, grabbing Batman’s shoulder before he could punch a purse snatcher. The criminal in question, clutching a sparkly holographic purse in utter terror, couldn’t even muster the courage to run in the face of the famous Dark Knight. Ladybug glared at the older hero for a second before turning to the thief and shrugging with a lopsided smile.

“Sorry, he’s still not used to Parisian crime stopping. I’m reigning him in though, no worries,” she assured him. Just as the thief began to back away though, her yo-yo sprung out and wrapped him up head to toe, allowing Ladybug to grab the purse with a smile. “Thank you, I’ll take that. Remember Batman, minimal force. This isn’t Crime Alley.”

Batman grumbled. “It was just gonna be one punch,” as he zip tied the guy and dragged him to the corner for the police to pick up. Ladybug returned the purse.

“See? A daytime patrol isn’t that bad,” Ladybug remarked as she ran over the rooftops with Batman, deciding that sticking closer to her dad was more important than going as fast as possible. Batman grunted, but Ladybug saw his minuscule grin.

“I still prefer the night.”

“Only because you don’t stick out like a sore thumb at night,” she teased. And then the Akuma Alarm went off.

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette panted as she lay sprawled over her bed, catching her breath. Bruce was slumped in her computer chair, cowl off and head curving over the top of the headrest. After a moment, Marinette spoke up;

“You look peaceful.”

“When I’m winded?” He cracked an eye open to shoot her a tired but still deadpan look. She snorted.

“No. With your eyes closed. And cheer up, it was only Gigantitan. Not anywhere near the worst we could have gotten.”

“I think you’re forgetting that I don’t have magic helping me out. Fighting giant children is not something I do often.”

“Oh please, you’ve fought way worse.”

“... that is true.”

“Dad?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Thanks.”

“Of course. Want to go back to Gotham with me and get ice cream before you have to be back for dinner?”

“Read my mind.”

—*—*—*—*—*

hi! Let me clarify something real quick guys. These one shots are for Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month. Meaning, there are 30 prompts, one for each day of september. These one shots will NOT be connected unless previously stated! This one, as you could probably tell, has NOTHING to do with the story for Day 1. I’m just exploring a bunch of possibilities and letting my imagination run wild for these. Nonetheless, I will definitely tag you if you want. Thanks!

@momothefemur @ladybug-182 @starlightshield @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #b!dbwm2020 #bio dad bruce wayne #platonic brucinette #platonic daminette #B!dbwm #Day Two

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x0401x · 4 years ago

Text

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #14

Feel free to message me about possible corrections, and please consider supporting the creators by purchasing digital copies of the official releases: Novel || Manga || Fanbook. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

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Santa Invasion

“What’s this?”

“Ice cream.”

“Well, I can tell that much just by looking, but...”

“To be precise, it is an ice cream cake.”

A gigantic ladybug was sitting on the low table. Its vivid red and dark brown-like black shades were definitely berries and chocolate. The back was decorated with flowers like marguerite. It was adorable. And huge. It was a hemispherical cake that looked like a basket ball cut in half, the name of a store from Dogenzaka printed on its box. It was 7PM. The last customer had left, I was done with the cleaning and all we had left to do was closing the store. It was still the second week of December, so the mayhem of making provisions for winter presents was a few ways ahead, but the number of clients was increasing little by little.

Just what on earth would this beautiful jeweler come up in such times?

Due to a habit of his from whenever he had something that was hard to say aloud and thus failed to speak up, Mr. Richard Ranashinghe de Vulpian had a serious crease forming just slightly between his brows. It made me feel at ease. This guy didn’t make a face like this when he was burdened with something that was actually difficult to say. He would speak more bland and expressionlessly instead.

“This is a little souvenir.”

“Are you going to a customer’s place after this?”

Richard’s reply was a gentle “no” in English.

He’d been often speaking a mix of Japanese and English lately. When English-speaking customers came by, he would switch completely to English as if for practical assessment, so I was desperate just to keep up with listening to them. I was grateful for having him as my English conversation teacher.

“A certain good-for-nothing who works with finances is currently in Japan, so...”

“Ah, Jeffrey-san, is it? He seemed so busy last time... Sorry, forget what I just said.”

“No need. That is a correct interpretation, so it is nothing to apologize about.”

Despite saying this, Richard’s facial expression did not seem even remotely satisfied as he swiftly took an indigo envelope out of his pocket. It had no seal, so it must have been handed over to him. The content was a pop-out card, and under a paper-craft cake colored with gold leaves and uneven printing, it was written in very tasteful Japanese: “I’m going to hold a party at the hotel, so come over. I’ll be waiting.” The date of the party was today and the place was the room of a luxury hotel in Tokyo. A home party? No, a hotel party.

The title was “Richard’s birthday party”. The plate of the pop-up cake didn’t say “Merry Christmas”. It said “Happy Birthday”.

Christmas Eve on the 24th was this beautiful shopkeeper’s birthday.

As I returned the card to him, a crease once again formed between Richard’s brows as he said with an unsparingly decisive tone, “How very embarrassing.”

“Doesn’t seem so much like it from your face.”

“Because I practiced making it. But this is extremely embarrassing. I think it is not something that warrants going through the trouble of arranging a plane ticket.”

“I wonder if anyone else will be going.”

“It seems Chieko will attend. I received an e-mail yesterday saying, ‘I am going to show up as a surprise so please take care of me’.”

“Is that even a surprise? Well, okay.”

Chieko-san was Richard and Jeffrey’s private tutor in the past and I was acquainted with her to some degree. I wondered if Homura-san, who had married her daughter, was also coming. No, not happening. He was a customer of Etranger, so Richard would probably feel abashed if he did so.

“If it goes on like this, the people lying in wait in that room will just gang up into an assembly to celebrate me.”

“What even is ‘ganging up to celebrate’?”

“They are ganging up on me. I likely will not be able to say anything other than ‘thank you very much’. I need reinforcements. If you would like, could you come with me?”

“Me too? That okay?”

“Of course. The party starts at 8PM probably because it coincides with Etranger’s closing hours. That British safe-like man is not narrow-minded enough to leave you out.”

It was written there that the party would begin at 8PM. We had 30 minutes. There was no spare time to make a pudding. What to do? What should I do?

Richard was apparently unable to let my groaning an “ngh, ngh” while deep in thought go unnoticed. “If it is impossible for you, just say so right away. I know that you are at the final stage of studying for your exams.”

“That doesn’t matter. Why didn’t you tell me a bit earlier about this? If I knew, I could’ve made preparations for it... Aah, is that why?”

“It is. I recall saying that you should refrain from being overly distracted.”

“I don’t think a ‘celebration’ is ‘overly distracting’, though.”

“Anything is fine, so please answer. Will you come or not?”

He didn’t have to go as far as asking me something like that.

I bowed in a way that wouldn’t cause any hairs to fall onto the ice cream ladybug. “I shall humbly accompany you.”

“Very well.”

“Sorry, but before that, I gotta go to the toilet for a bit.”

I hastily rushed to Etranger’s restroom and unlocked my phone in a flash. I then tapped on the e-mail app. Of course, the destination could only be one person.

“Help. I’m sorry but I just got informed about the birthday party, so I have no present.”

Jeffrey-san.

The contents of the message were not at all on a level that someone should send to the person they owed their life to, but he would understand.

The reply came in a matter of seconds. As expected, he worked fast.

“Good evening. I have everything, so there’s no problem if you come empty-handed. There will be champagne, canapés, chicken pie and cake, and I plan to have chocolate fondue coming up at the end.”

There was a proud smiley emoji at the end of the text. It seemed this was going to be a big deal.

Richard would probably have work tomorrow, and he wasn’t the type to get wasted or stuff his face with sweets in the middle of the night. It seemed I also wouldn’t have to worry about dinner. It made me feel sorry. This was the same old pattern. This course of eating and seeing good stuff amidst the confusion of the moment made my stomach hurt when I thought better about it.

“Don’t you know anything that Richard wanted?”

The response came after a moment, “My bad, but nothing comes to mind. How about you give him what you want most?”

What I wanted most. I could only think of refill shampoo and new socks. I’d be ashamed of giving things like that to Richard. After all, this was a mixture of birthday and Christmas party—

Just as I was thinking this, a genius inspiration sprouted in my head. It wasn’t the best solution. Not at all. But I felt it could work. This was too obvious, but if only I had the necessary materials for it, I could do it immediately.

Making up my mind, I came out of the restroom, apologized for making Richard wait, and as we rode to the designated address on the jaguar, I had him stop the car in front of a mass retailer for a moment. I told him I wanted to buy refill shampoo for my home. Richard was exasperated, but didn’t have any suspicions in particular.

We arrived at the hotel, got into the elevator, and on the way to the party venue, I made sure to walk a bit behind Richard. Staying out of his sight was essential.

When he opened the door to the suite, sure enough, Jeffrey-san and Chieko-san were waiting inside. Giving off a relaxed atmosphere, a room-service feast even bigger than what I had imagined from the phone call was waiting on the table for the main guest.

“Happy birthday, Richard. Chieko’s here too. Surprised?”

“Of course. Very surprised. Extremely.”

“Hmm, by the looks of it, I guess there was some information leak. Well, that’s okay! Where’s Nakata-kun?”

“What do you mean ‘where’? He’s right here. Seigi... Seigi?”

My eyes locked with Richard’s. I had locked them with Jeffrey-san’s before that. I was grateful that he had done me the favor of not laughing.

I politely shook my head at my boss, who was making a flabbergasted face. “My name is Santa.”

What I had bought at the mass retailer was a handy Santa makeover set. The three-piece set consisted of a hat, a put-on beard and a Santa costume, but I hadn’t had time to change into the costume, so it was folded up in my bag. I intended to borrow the suite’s bathroom to put on the costume. If I at least had my face ready, I could somehow make it work.

Richard was dumbfounded. It was the obvious reaction. But I wanted him to forgive me for this. After all, it was December and today was a party day.

“I’m Santa Claus! I came from the North Pole. Please take care of me for today!” After introducing myself, I thought that maybe this wasn’t an exemplary self-introduction for Santa, but it was already too late.

Jeffrey-san, who completely livened up the mood whenever he got excited, went along with the joke, saying, “Wah, Santa-san, thank you for coming from such a faraway place!”

I was grateful for that one. And that was how I got away with playing the role of a worldwide mascot-like old man character from the Arctic for the day. The ice cream cake brought by the star of the party was a success, and we had a toast with both champagne and royal milk tea. Chieko-san was wearing a kimono, the remade peridot brooch on her chest.

It had already been more than half a year since then, but to my body, it felt like even longer ago.

My location had moved from Japan to Sri Lanka, as one would expect, and I was busy fully enjoying a spring in which white temple flowers were blooming in Kandy, my new home. But for some reason, Santa was here. A beautiful blond, blue-eyed man slipped in and out of sight, but his outward appearance was that of Santa Claus. It was the kind of Santa costume that you could buy at the costume section of any mass retailer. One of the sad things about unmatched beauty was the fact nobody could actually claim that his natural beauty was ruined by the look. The brilliance of his blue eyes, which looked like they could suck you in, was the same as ever.

“I am Santa Claus. I came from the North Pole.”

“But now’s a hot time of the year.”

“Santa Claus is a symbol of summer in the Southern Hemisphere. I do not think it is particularly strange.”

“T-That might be true. Well, then... what’re you doing?”

“Santa does what Santa does. The tradition of Santa Claus, much like the language of jewels, has a wide variety of legends to it depending on the region, but either way, the role of a saint who grants blessings to little children, women and those in need is a guise commonly demanded in society. And for you, here it is.” Saying this, “Santa” offered me a plastic, loose stone display case that I was all too familiar with. There was a red stone stuck between the cushion and transparent lid. “Can you identify this gemstone?”

“Tourmaline, I guess. Red tourmaline.”

“Good for you. Did you know that it has one more name?”

“Rubellite.”

“Perfect. Large, pinkish-red tourmalines are called by that name, and it is a stone of which huge carved crystals have been loved as works of art, such as the amulet of Empress Dowager Cixi and the Romanov royal treasure, the ‘Strawberry Pendant’.”

As I peeked at the stone inside the case, humming that it was pretty, the beautiful jeweler cleared his throat and started over.

“Just as people’s feelings dwell within beautiful stones, this one is filled with the feeling of celebrating the start of your new life, from your family back in Japan, your friends and your superior at work, with whom you have a relationship other than the aforementioned and that neither of us knows how to define. Santa is wholly thankful for being in the position to bestow you with such a gift. I forgot to say it, but happy birthday. Nakata Seigi-san. I sincerely pray, all the way from my home in the Arctic, that this year will be a fruitful one for you.”

“Thank you. Seriously, thank you for always, Richa...”

“Santa. I am a passing Santa.”

“Then let’s go with that. By the way, if you’re Santa, where are the reindeers?”

When asked this, the man in disguise answered with a cool gaze that the reindeers were using stealth technology nowadays so that they wouldn’t be found by radars, hence they couldn’t be seen. He had it down to the details.

“It’s been about ten years since the last time Santa-san came around. I’ll take good care of this. Santa-san, you take care of your body too. I’ll ask my boss next time I see him about the person who gave you this stone.”

“You should. Well, then.” With a bow, Santa left for a car parked in the courtyard. I probably wasn’t supposed to see him off. I’d feel bad for the stealth reindeers.

The red stone stayed in my hand.

I had told a white lie. It hadn’t been ten years since Santa had last showed up. This was the first time ever since I was born. In my home, there was always someone playing the role of “Santa”, such as Hiromi, Grandma and Nakata-san, so they never tried to tell me nice lies. Nakata-san probably just followed Hiromi’s way of doing things, though. The fact I thought up something like that last December, when Jeffrey asked me what I “wanted most”, might not have been unrelated to this. At any rate, to me, not even once was there any supernatural existence who would leave toys by my bedside if I were a good kid. Until this day.

After a while of standing by the garden, where it was always summer, and listening closely to the cries of birds with my eyes closed, I unlocked my phone. The Wi-Fi range of the house seemed good, and so I could send e-mails immediately. The contents were simple. The destination was my boss, Richard.

“Santa came to my place. But he left so quick that I couldn’t make him tea.”

The reply soon came: “Are you half-asleep?”

If he really thought that I was half-asleep, then maybe I should delay the reply for a few more minutes, I thought, but I didn’t write anything further. The house’s cleaning was half-assed and I had to check the security. I also wanted to know as many of my neighbors as could.

Together with the feeling that I had suddenly been given something I had forgotten, and that I didn’t even know I had forgotten, I put rubellite in the jewelry safe and stepped out into the Sri Lankan provincial city. I had nothing to fear and no hesitation. The ill feeling that I’d be living here alone had disappeared. After all, Santa had come by. Far from elementary school, I was now an adult who had already graduated from university, and it currently wasn’t December but May, where the only anniversary I could think of was my own birthday, yet Santa had come by. Such an impossible thing had happened.

So I could do my best, I thought.

And so, I could be getting ahead of myself, but I began thinking about my plans for this December. Would there be a second chance for Santa to appear? If not, I wanted to make one. I decided to fuss over the outfit a little more and prepare proper gifts this time. Then I’d tell him stories about jewels and try to make him laugh a lot. That, too, was Santa’s duty.

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #housekishou richard #jeweler richard #the case files of jeweler richard #nakata seigi #richard ranashinha de vulpian #richard ranashinghe de vulpian #richard #jr short story collection #jeffrey claremont #novel #tsujimura nanako #yukihiro utako #my translation

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eideticmemory · 4 years ago

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FINE LINE II | SPENCER REID

Two kids and two decades of history later, you and your ex-husband learn to navigate the world of co-parenting. PART 2! Read Part One.

Word Count: 3,643.

Warning: Daddy Issues, mommy issues, angst, drama, romance. Love to see it.

Spencer’s a deep sleeper; both E and Em get it from him. But the one thing that all three of them are trained to wake up to, is your voice.

“Hey!” You snapped at Spencer, landing a harsh blow beside his sleeping frame.

He jolted awake in familiar frenzy, reaching out to grab you, make sure you were safe.

“Hey, hey, it’s me,” you spoke. “Look, I need a favor.”

“A favor?” he muttered.

“Yes,” you nodded. “You wanna be here for a few days? I need some help. Take the kids to school today.”

“Wha—“

“Or let E drive your car, it doesn’t matter, she’s a good driver,” you shrugged. “They need to be there at 8:15 sharp or else the administration has a stick up their ass. They’ll wake themselves up, dress themselves — stylishly — and feed themselves. And, uh, if you make them late, they’ll lose their minds so try to be out of here by 8, okay? Okay. Thank you.”

“Wait, wait, wait, [y/n],” Spencer called, holding your hand in his palm. “Where are you going?” He weakly pat around the mattress, searching for his phone, and when he grabbed the device in his hand, he checked the time. “It’s six in the morning.”

“So?”

“So,” he sighed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. You subtly averted your eyes to avoid seeing him shirtless, the duvet cover falling to his lap. “You didn’t get home until two in the morning.”

“You spying on me?” You asked.

“No, I just . . . can’t sleep knowing you’re out late at night—“

“Working,” you interjected.

“Working . . . and now you’re up four hours later?” He questioned.

“We could sit here and argue about who has a more messed up work schedule, or you can take the kids to school, just this once, and I’ll pick them up.”

“No, I’ll pick them up, don’t worry about it,” Spencer shrugged. “You go to work, I’ve got it.”

You sighed, “Are you actually staying until Sunday?”

“[y/n]—“

“No, Mr. Unit Chief, how did you get the week off from the BAU? Hm? It — it just doesn’t make sense.”

“So that’s what you wanted to ask me last night . . . why not just say it, [y/n]?”

“Don’t profile me, it’s valid question.”

“Listen,” he squeezed your hand lightly, just enough that the pressure silenced you. “I am off of work until Monday morning. You need me to drop off and pick up the kids? I can do that. Need me to feed them? I can do that, too. I can do it every day this week if you want. If you need to be at work, then go.”

You inhaled deeply, and released it in a sharp breath. “Thanks,” you shrugged. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

The drive to your office was silent. Full of nothing but your thoughts and rambles and quiet scoffs. You missed the kids. Missed being with them in early hours like this, eating breakfast on the go, singing along to the radio. But your mind needed time to rest, to regroup away from Spencer and his sudden appearance.

When you arrived at work, you stumbled in to find an earlier bird than you. “Raven . . .” you mumbled. “I told you to go home, babe.”

“And I told you that this is getting in at 7:30 sharp . . .” she cleared her throat and glanced at you apologetically. “Boss. . .”

You sighed and shrugged, “Do you need help?”

“Nope,” she shook her head. “I’m right on schedule.”

You chuckled, full of pride, “Good.” You wandered over to your private office and secluded yourself behind the glass doors. Taking a seat at your desk, you plopped down with a tired huff. You rested your head on your folded arms, and just as you began to snore, your phone rang in your ear. You jumped up in a daze, groaning out at the device in frustration. When you picked it up, however, and saw who was calling, you gasped, whined, fell back childishly in your chair.

You sighed, answering the facetime, “Hi, Penelope.”

“Don’t ‘hi, Penelope” me,” she replied, her phone showing her dressed and sipping on a cup of tea. “I had to find out from Emily that Spencer is staying the week with you and the kids? How is this possible?”

“Pen—“

“Hold on.”

Suddenly, your screen revealed another person being added to the call. “Pen, why did you add Em— . . . Emily, hi.”

“What the hell is going on? [y/n]? Did you call me?” Emily hollered into her car speaker, focusing on the road ahead of her as she speaks.

“I did not call, Penelope called, I was ambushed,” you explained.

“No, no, you do not have Spencer spending the entire week at your house — for the first time, I might add — and not tell me,” Penelope interjected. “How are you? How are the kids? How did this happen? Are you two talking? Are you—“

“I told Penelope that Spencer requested the week off,” Emily said. “I thought you had already told her.”

“Yeah, Section Chief, how about some warning there? How did Spencer even get so much time off?” You rambled.

“Woah, woah,” Emily crowed. “Don’t shoot the messenger, he had more than enough vacation time saved up. He could’ve taken the entire month off and not lost a dime. There was nothing I could do. Plus, I thought, maybe . . .”

“Maybe. . .what?” You questioned.

“Maybe you and him had talked things out and . . .”

“Oh, my goodness,” Penelope exclaimed. “Are you guys back together?”

“No!” You shout. You sighed, “No . . . Spencer and I are not back together. He just . . . showed up. I called him to talk about E’s birthday party and he . . . well he says he’s staying until Sunday. Which is, perfect. Perfect in theory, if he actually stays. But he’s getting the kids’ hopes up and I hate that.”

“Yeah . . .” Emily snickered. “He’s getting the kids’ hopes up?”

“Emily Prentiss, do not profile me. Not you. I swear . . .”

Emily busted out laughing. “I mean, honey,” Penelope whispered. “I’m profiling you right now.”

“And with that, we must say goodbye,” you hummed happily as you pressed the button to hang up.

It was Wednesday. Wednesday. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. So, five days with the man, at most. Then he goes back to DC, and those beautiful ninety miles are between you two again. Unless you do therapy, which you won’t, because it’s an awful idea and — you don’t want to think about Spencer Reid this much. You can’t. But you check the clock and it’s 7:45 and he needs to get the kids out the door soon. Should you call? You should call. Okay, call. No, text E.

Y: hey girlie!! 🥰 had to leave early this morning, is dad taking you to school?

E: hey mom 🥺 yeah dad’s taking us!! we’re getting breakfast right now from chick-fil-a and he’s letting me drive his car!!

Y: oh wow! don’t hit any cows out there!

E: ha ha ha so funny ur hilarious

Y: love you 💕 💗 ❤️

E: love you ✨✨

Okay. They’re up. They’re happy. That’s good. They’re smiles are going to get you through the week. They always do.

When you get home that afternoon, Spencer and the kids were laughing, playing cards against each other in the kitchen.

“I hope you guys aren’t gambling in here, because that’s more of a living room activity,” you laughed to announce your presence.

“Hey, [y/n],” Spencer greeted you. “Come play!”

“I’m good,” you nodded.

“See? I told you guys she won’t play against me. She never has and never will,” he told the kids. They giggled.

“Oh, please, you say that like I’m scared to play against you,” you snickered.

“Well? Are you?” He asked, a hint of arrogance in his voice.

“Absolutely not,” you set your things down on the counter and joined them at the table. “Continue your game, though, because I would be scared to play against the kids.”

Spencer gave you this look out of the corner of his eye, his iris looking at you under his eyelashes and a light smile on his face.

Maybe these next four days won’t be so bad.

They were more than not so bad. They weren’t bad at all. They were blissful and full of smiles and laughter and fun family dinners every night, and you’d never felt so productive. You cleared two major social work cases at the job, thanks to Spencer’s help with the kids. Friday night, you came home to the backyard fully decorated for tomorrow’s party. Spencer had recieved the chair delivery and set everything up behind the house, surrounded each table with a handful of chairs and the proper decorations sat in the center. You absorbed it all in complete and utter shock. You were prepared to spend all of tonight and tomorrow morning doing this. And Spencer took care of it all.

“What do you think?” Spencer grinned, him and E standing in the center of the backyard proudly. “Took us hours but it’s all set. Now we just need the food and the people.”

E chuckled, “What do ya’ think, mom?”

“I. . .” you whispered. “I think it looks gorgeous. You guys did amazing.”

“Thank you,” she pipped, grinning happily. “I think so, too. Oh, c’mon, dad, let me show you my party dress!”

As they rushed into the house, Spencer pinched onto your shoulder lightly, smirking as he passed you by. Your stomach filled with an unshakable and startling feeling. It had you rocking on your heels trying to process it and breathe through it.

Saturday morning, you woke up at 9 o’clock as planned. E would be up in another hour, so you had plenty of time to sort out the last few details of her party. The guest list was just above 80 people, and you had to make sure you had ordered enough food to feed them all. You had to check in with the caterer, the baker, Spencer.

You knocked on the door heavily, before wandering in, expecting him to be dead asleep. When you walked in and saw the bed empty and well made, you stopped in your tracks.

“What the hell?” You muttered, stomping over to the bed, and snatching up the note on the pillow.

My dearest [y/n]

Gone out to run some birthday errands. Kiss the birthday girl for me.

Spencer

Errands? What errands? Is he serious? You sighed, and pulled your phone from your back pocket. You dialed Spencer’s number and held the phone to your ear, only to be greeted with an immediate voicemail. You furrowed your eyebrows and huffed angrily.

You drafted and sent a text to him, desperately wishing you were more surprised by this:

Be back by 4 please.

No answer.

You carried on the day with one mission: keep things under control and keep E’s mind off of Spencer. You let her stay cornered in her room, bringing her breakfast and an iced coffee, and kissing her on the top of her head.

“I can’t believe 16 years ago today, I was laid up in a hospital bed, screaming my head off, cursing at the nurses, when this tiny, slimy thing just . . . popped out of me.”

“Most people just say happy birthday,” Eden cringed.

“Happy birthday, babe,” you giggled. “You have no idea what you’ve done for me just by existing.”

“That’s more like it,” she nodded happily. “Thank you. Is dad here?”

“Uh, no,” you said quickly, prepared for the question. “He went to take care of some stuff for the party, he’ll be back before the party starts, though. Will Francesca be coming over today?”

“Oh. Okay. Uh, yeah. She’s coming to do my makeup.”

“Awesome,” you smiled, standing up. “Well, birthday girl, you get glitzy and glammy, and get ready for the party of a lifetime.”

“Mom . . . is everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Stop that, don’t worry about anything today, okay? Things are fine.”

“Okay,” she nodded. She trusted you. For 16 years, since the minute she was born, she’s trusted you. “Okay.”

Eden’s godmother was the first to show up. Penelope Garcia live and in the flesh. She barged into the house the moment you opened the door to greet her, and she rushed up the stairs.

“Pen, she is getting ready—“

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I understand the importance of a teenage girls appearance, but I haven’t seen either of the kids in so long.”

“It’s been a month, Pen.”

“Way too long . . . Penelope!” She called out for Eden.

E perked her head up in her room, stopping her best friend, Francesca, from doing her eye makeup. “Auntie P?” She murmured and turned to the door.

Penelope opened the bedroom door joyfully, smiling ear to ear when she saw E. “Little Penelope!” She shouted, excitedly clapping her hands.

E hopped up from her seat and ran over to Penelope, practically jumping into her arms.

“Oh, happy birthday, babygirl!” Penelope cooed. “I can’t believe how big you are!”

“Thank you,” E smiled, her face tucked into Penelope’s shoulder.

You watched them, close to tears yourself to see them together. There were 5 people in the room when Eden Penelope Reid was born 16 years old ago. The doctor, 2 nurses, you — of course — and Penelope Garcia. It was the scariest thing you’d ever been through. And at your side, for 10 hours of labor, was Penelope. She held your hand, spoke softly to distract you from the pain, and encouraged you as you went through delivery. When Eden came into the world, it was no question what her middle name would be.

Penelope helped E prepare as you kept the business rolling in. Food, lights, cutlery, plates. You were rushing and running for hours. You barely just had time to shower and get yourself ready, let alone make sure Em put on the outfit you picked out for him. Luckily, Penelope got him dressed and sat with a good book so you could get yourself together.

The clock struck 4 in the afternoon, signaled by an alarm on your phone, and you had just stepped out of the bathroom. You slipped on a floral dress, befitting of a mother on a special day. Hair in place, dress without wrinkles, shoes to match, guests rolling in, and . . . oh yeah, still no Spencer. Countless calls and texts to him went unanswered, and you were running out of excuses to tell the kids.

When your last and final call to him went straight to voicemail, you left a message.

“Spencer, I don’t know where you are, and I want you to know that, right now, I don’t care. It’s a quarter after 4, and people are showing up, and the show must go on, so . . . show up, don’t show up. Keep us on our toes, it doesn’t matter. I hope you’re okay. Bye.”

Dropping you phone on your bed, you gave it one more glance as you left the room.

Music rang throughout the backyard, packed with people by the time it was 5:30. Eden brought the whole BAU together — visited by Penelope, Emily, Matt, Tara, Derek, Hotch, and Luke who brought his and Penny’s baby boy along.

E was in heaven, reunited with some of her closest cousins. It was turning into a good day, without Spencer. But there was a hole caused by his absence that no one could fill. And you know this because you’ve been trying to fill it all of Eden’s life.

While your little girl is quite the social butterfly, sometimes that social battery of hers can wear low. Particularly when she’s overwhelmed by attention, or stress, or her own genius thoughts.

Luckily, she gets that from you, and you two have a tendency to find similar places to hide. She found you sitting on the back patio, hidden in the corner. “Hey, pretty girl!” you smiled. “Having fun?”

“Yeah,” she giggled. “You?”

“Eh, it’s an alright party,” you joked.

“So . . . do you know where dad is?”

You released a long exhale and hesitated for a good, long few seconds. “No.”

She nodded, “Cool. That’s cool.”

“E—“

“Penelope, come here!” Penelope suddenly screamed from the front door.

“Coming!” E called back. “I have to attend to my guests, excuse me.” She giggled, and you smiled at her as she walked away.

You relaxed back against the wall of the house, watching your friends and family rejoice in the backyard. Over the music, you heard the curling sound of a scream. Eden’s scream. And you ran like you’ve never ran in your life.

“Oh, my God,” she cried. “Oh, my God!”

You were confused and a bit scared and very eager to see what had her so overwhelmed. And when you rounded the corner, coming face to face with the front door, you gasped, stopping on your tippy toes like you were knocked in the face by an invisible force.

“Ah! Piccolo genio! Happy birthday!” Rossi said to your daughter as he held her in a tight hug. He pulled away to hold her face in his hands lovingly. “It is incredible to see the person you have become. Goodness! You know who you look just like?” He questioned.

Rossi spun on his heels, facing himself in your direction with open arms. “Her,” he said. “You look just like her.” He stepped towards you slowly, “My goodness, someone would think it was your sweet sixteen we’re celebrating.”

You laughed and shook your head, blinking away the tears of joy in your eyes. “Flattery is not gonna make me forget that a certain someone doesn’t know how to visit more often.”

“Italy to Virginia is a long flight, my dear,” he pulled you into a tight hug. A secure hug. Full of safety and love and memories. “But I will have to make it more.”

You burrowed yourself into his chest, smiling to yourself at the sound of his voice.

“[y/n],” he whispered. “How are you?”

You did nothing but let out a long, long, long sigh.

“We’ll talk,” he nodded.

“Now,” he pulled away from the hug to hold you against his side. “Since I am here, the party may now . . . begin.”

As everyone followed Eden and Rossi through the house, you were left in the entrance with Spencer, who was eyeing you shyly with his hands in his pockets.

“Got caught up at the airport,” he explained.

You gave him the teeniest, tiniest half smile, and let out a faint laugh, “C’mon, Spencer.”

Later that night, when it was just you, Spencer, and the rest of the BAU veterans, he offered to help you clean up. You stood in front of the sink, scrubbing at a dirty pan as music played softly in the background.

“[y/n]?” Spencer whispered to you as he placed leftovers in the fridge. “What’s on your mind?”

You shook your head, and turned briefly to give him a solemn smile, “I never had a sixteenth birthday party,” you told him, returning your attention to the dishes. “Did you?”

He chuckled to himself, “No,” he said. “I had a psychology exam the day of my sixteenth birthday. I took it and then read for the rest of the night.”

“I had a trigonometry exam on my sixteenth birthday,” you shrugged.

“Oh, yeah? How’d you do?” he chuckled.

You rolled your eyes at him, “I did alright . . . then I went back to my charity dorm on MIT’s campus, and had some microwaved pasta.”

Spencer let out a soft sigh, and stepped over to you, “Life of a child prodigy, right?”

“But not for E. Not for Em. All I ever wanted was for them to be extraordinary, and live an ordinary life. High IQ, be damned, it’s what they deserve.” You rambled. After a few minutes of silence, you glanced at Spencer, who was eyeing you sympathetically. “Don’t profile me, Spencer Reid, we’ve talked about this.”

“I’m not profiling you!” He laughed.

“You are,” you said.

“I am not. If anything, you’re profiling me right now.”

“Profiling you profiling me?”

“Exactly—what? No!” he said through constant laughter.

You smirked at him, hiding a smile behind the expression. “I don’t need to profile you, Spencer. I know you.”

“I—“

“I know you.” You enunciated. “I know you.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “You do.”

You knew you had to tear yourself away from those big brown eyes as soon as possible, or risk major emotional turmoil. So, you focused on the dishes as you spoke, “I’ve been thinking . . . maybe therapy . . . wouldn’t be so bad.”

Spencer’s eyes went wide, “Really?”

“Really, it’s about twenty years too late, but . . .” You nodded. “I guess a part of that whole ordinary lives thing for the kids is having parents that actually get along, so . . . I’ll try it.”

“Thank you, [y/n], thank you so much,” he said. “I already made us an appointment here in Charlottesville for next Friday.”

You scoffed. You should’ve been mad, annoyed. But all you could think was: yeah, I definitely married a scorpio.

“Fi—“ you mumbled, in the midst of rolling your eyes when a gust of movement caught your attention. Outside of the kitchen window, to the side of the house, was E. E and some boy. A handsome boy. You couldn’t tell if he looked familiar. Well. Yeah, he kinda did.

“[y/n]?” Spencer called to you, when he suddenly noticed Eden. “Do . . . do you know him? [y/n]?”

You watched as the kid handed E a birthday gift and placed a kiss to her cheek. She blushed softly and looked down. No. No, you didn’t know him. She hadn’t told you about him.

Another part of the whole ordinary life thing. A part that you had completely forgotten about.

Boys.

TAGLIST:

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@cielo1984

@rachelxwayne

@gublergirls

@reidscardigan

@reidsvw

@beyonces-breastmilk

@ev13lovescriminalminds

@mggpleasedontlookhere

@rexorangecouny

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #mine #fl

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magical-girl-coral · 3 years ago

Text

Birthday Surprises

Nanao Ise has found a new low for herself. It was eight in the morning, the sun was barely rising, and she was already on her fourth cup of Sake. And from how she was feeling, she wasn’t going to stop any time soon.

It all started when she and her friends decided to do something nice for Rangiku. For the last few months, she had been oddly active, taking fewer naps at the office, doing her paperwork, drinking less in the afternoon, and actually showing up to lieutenants' meetings on time. So as a small reward, all her female coworkers thought of giving her a small birthday surprise, showing up at her door with booze and persimmon sweets for a good morning gift. Since almost everyone takes a day off on their birthday, they wouldn't have to worry about her being somewhere else. Nanao took the lead since it was her idea and opened the bedroom to wake Rangiku up.

And there were no words that could describe her shock when she saw her best friend with a bedmate. Nanao was just thankful her instincts shut the door before anyone else could peek in.

Now she, along with the rest of the Shinigami Women's Association, drank in one of their many secret hiding spots (thanks to president Yachiru) as they took in the new information.

Rukia looked at Nanao worriedly. "Ise-san, don't you think you should slow down a bit?"

Kiyone grimaced. "I don't think she's drinking enough. I would have drunk myself under the table by now if I were in her place. Just thinking about finding Isane like that gives me chills."

"I still can't get over how she had a secret boyfriend and didn't tell us," Momo said before Nanao could correct Kiyone's assumption for her "sisterly" feelings towards Rangiku, “She almost never keeps secrets like this. Sometimes she tells us too much!”

Soi Fon poured Nanao and herself another cup. "And are you sure you didn't see his face?"

Nanao dropped her face on the table. "No," she mumbled out, "I could only see the back of his head." Although the silver hair, the scar across the chest, and the fucking missing right arm were enough to tell who he was.

Oh, gods, she was starting to curse now mentally. She should stop before the words begin to come out.

Isane smiled awkwardly at the scene. "Well, at least now we know why she's been in such a good mood lately. Remember when she turned down lunch break drinking with captain Kyoraku, and we all thought she was dying?"

Retsu smiled at that. "I remember that. You tied her up and sent her to me directly to get an emergency check. Even I was too scared of the possibilities to turn down the request. Rangiku was fairly upset with all of us."

"....I've just realized something," Nemu said suddenly, "it's impossible for her mystery bedfellow to be one of the seated officers, lieutenants, or captains."

Nanao raised her head from the table. "What do you mean?"

"Rangiku has a lieutenant-level spiritual power that has only grown stronger since she has taken her Shikai training more seriously," Nemu explained, "only people around her levels can be detected while standing in her presence. Since Rangiku's spiritual mass would cloak anyone weaker, none of us could sense his presence, which means whoever she is with has to be weaker than her."

Nanao's eyebrows went up to her hairline. His restrictions. They must have hidden his spiritual powers. Nanao thanked the gods and swallowed the irony of Nemu's last sentence.

"Now that is a big relief," Soin Fon said, "Can you imagine how awkward it would be if she dated someone we all knew?"

"Oh, yeah, I haven't thought about that," Momo said to herself, "With how intermingled everyone already is, adding a romantic relationship to the mix would be more than messy, especially since most of us are still getting used to how everything's changed."

Nanao's heart fell to her stomach as everyone agreed.

"I feel a bit proud now, even more so than I have before," Retsu said as she put a hand over her heart, and it was at that moment that Nanao had forsaken the cup and went straight to the bottle.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Three hours and two bottles later, Nanao found herself in front of Rangiku's apartment. While she did declare she was ready to go home to take a last-minute day off, she found herself in front of Rangiku's door instead. This is why one shouldn't drink and Shunpo.

After knocking on her door on a lost rhyme, Rangiku opened her door with a surprised expression. "Nanao-chan, What are you doing here? And why do you smell like your captain?"

Nanao swayed as she answered with her own question. "Can he extend his penis like his sword?"

Rangiku openly gaped at her. "What?"

"You know, he says shoot to kill, and it gets longer." Nanao wished she could shut her mouth, but the words kept flowing out. "Or do his restrictions stop that from happening? No, wait, does his hollowfication do something during sex? Like, can it transform his di-"

Rangiku slapped her palm over Nanao's mouth, to which Nanao was grateful. "Okay, since you're obviously hammered and won't listen to common sense, how about I'll pour you a glass of water, some tea, and we'll continue this conversation inside where my neighbors can't hear you."

Nanao nodded her head in agreement, and Rangiku released her mouth. She quickly pulled them both inside and sat Nanao down before going to the kitchen to prepare the aforementioned tea.

Rangiku sat a teacup in front of Nanao and took a deep breath. "So, why have you been drinking with Nemu at eleven in the morning?"

Nanao shrunk in her seat. It didn’t feel great to be on the other side of the table. “Because I found you and captain Ichimaru in bed together. We wanted to surprise you because it’s your birthday and I panicked, but no one else has seen his face!” She added the last part quickly after noticing her ever-paling face. "Wait, how did you know I drank with Nemu?"

"I learned the hard way not to get her too drunk, or I start asking the same things from her influence." Rangiku chuckled softly to herself. "Your next question?"

"How long have you two been together?"

Rangiku put her finger on her chin in thought. "We got togther around the last winter festival, so about nine months."

Now it was Nanao's turn to gape. "Nine months?! You've been in a secret relationship for nine months, and you didn't tell me?! I thought you trusted me in these kinds of things! What changed?"

"No, no, I still do, I swear!" Rangiku assured as she rose her hands in defense. "I wanted to tell you, I really did. It was just... well..." Rangiku sighed deeply and sat back in her chair. "Do you remember when Gin first came back, people broke into the third's barracks and graffitied their offices?"

"Yes, I remember. It was painful watching Kira go through that-" Nanao's eyes widened in realization. "Oh."

"Yeah," Rangiku said as she rubbed her neck, "It took forever for things to settle down. Just yesterday, Gin mentioned how relieved he was that no one harassed his men in six months. So when we first got together, he wanted to keep it a secret so-"

"So that none of those poor excuses of breathing beings would start troubling you," Nanao finished the sentence for her.

Rangiku let out a small laugh. "You know, Gin called them something similar, except a lot more vulgar."

"Trust me, the only reason I haven't said anything worse is because your tea is magic, and it's sobering me up quickly." Nanao took another sip and rubbed her forehead. A hangover is coming already; she could feel it.

Rangiku's eyes shone brightly. "I know, right? It took me forever to come up with this special blend. It cures me right away! And don't forget to drink your water; the tea itself isn't enough. You also need some actual hydration."

Nanao drank the water, and her headache went away. She honestly wanted to get this straight to the Twelve Division to be analyzed, but her phone buzzed before she could joke about that. "It looks like president Kusajishi wants us to have an emergency meeting at Kuchiki manor."

"Awww," Rangiku complained loudly, "but it's my day off."

"We might as well get there just to get it over with." Nanao stood up and went to pull on Rangiku's arm. "It's probably about her spending all of our fundings on another failed pool."

Rangiku let out one last grumble as she was pulled to her feet. Unfortunately, they had to walk there, with Nanao still slightly drunk and Rangiku being sleepy from her constant napping. By the time they got there, it was one in the afternoon. Though, they would have arrived sooner if it wasn’t for an unplanned coffee stop.

Nanao and Rangiku both sensed more people than there should be. Thinking it was a trap or a cruel prank, they drew out their swords just in case. What they didn't expect was confetti, most of the high-ranked Shinigami, and a large banner in the middle of the room that said "Happy Birthday, Rangiku!".

All the attendants in the room wished Rangiku happy birthday in one giant shout as captain Ichimaru blew a party horn. Nanao turned her head towards Rangiku with an open mouth. "I did not know this was planned."

"Trust me, I believe you," Rangiku said before letting out a big laugh and walking up to hug her friends. "How were you able to pull this off at the last minute? And with Byakuya's approval to use one of his party rooms?"

"I used the "you tried to kill me for an entire week" card, and he gave it to us without issues," Rukia explained with a shrug, but Nanao knew what this meant. She only used this card during very dire situations, and coming up with a last-minute birthday surprise fit that criteria. And Rangiku seemed to notice this too with how she was trying to suffocate Rukia in a boob bear hug.

Gin stood next to the Rangiku. "Is this surprise party a hit?"

Rangiku nodded her head tearfully.

"Cool, I'm gonna go lurk in the shadows now. See ya."

Gin gave one last peace before disappearing into thin air. Rangiku released Rukia with an angry "don't you dare" and ran after him, only to come back empty-handed with a huff. However, her frown soon changed to a giddy smile when people started to hand her alcohol.

Nanao felt herself relax when the music began to play. People were talking, some were laughing, others were eating, and there was a large stack of gifts in one of the corners of the room. Maybe this day can end on a sober high note after all-.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number : If you wanted to know how long I was, you could've just ask ;)

Nanao threw her phone at the wall and went straight to the punch bowl.

#what up yall #its one am #im technically late #my brain is melting #but fuck it its still 29th in some countries and time is an illusion anyway #and big shout out to sobachkaas/rensply #i owe you my life. my sanity and my ass #i also probably wrote your name so sorry about that #ANYWAY #happy birthday queen 💕#have some second hand embarrasment as a birthday gift #Bleach #Rangiku Matsumoto #Nanao Ise #au rambles #edit: im gonna make this her pinned post until her birthday is over

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twilightfansofcolor · 4 years ago

Text

Black!Bella (New Moon edition)

wc: 1.7k

So the summer is here and Bella is on cloud 9

Without a doubt one of the best summers ever

When her leg healed up, Charlie took her hiking just like when she was little, or they’d go to La Push to look at the tidepools or they’d just go to Seattle to visit the aquarium

Sleepovers with Jessica and Angela where they’d stay up watching Studio Ghibli movies, binge watching the Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar YouTube channels, giving each other makeovers and giving each other recommendations about skin care products

Long conversations with Renee about college

Renee thinks Bella should try a school in New York

Charlie wants her to go an HBCU

She never told Charlie that she filled out applications for NYU and a school in Louisiana that she liked, and that she was expecting to hear back from them soon

Bella and Edward would spend hours at their favorite bookstore chain in Port Angeles looking through the summer releases

They went there so much they were offered membership cards where they’d get 15% off every purchase

Sleepovers with Alice where Bella would constantly ask her what she saw in that C*nfederate

Bella’s first few weeks of school fall around the same time as her birthday

She doesn’t have that many classes with Edward or Alice which she finds odd since Forks High is a small school

Bella’s birthday is pretty much canon

Renee gave her a gift box of her favorite Godiva chocolate, makeup and skincare products while Charlie got her a Nintendo Switch with a few games so they could play against each other on Mario Kart.

The birthday party is still the same and ends in disaster

Edward starts distancing himself from her, and so does Alice

Alice doesn’t wait for her outside her art class so they could walk to physics

Something is wrong, Bella can feel it in her bones even though Angela and Jessica tell her that it’s probably nothing

Bella is bracing for whatever is coming. Could it be Victoria seeking revenge and Edward doesn’t know how to tell her?

Something worse, much worse

Bella listens to him tell her that they have to leave Forks and it takes her a minute to realize that the Cullens have to leave town without her

“In the hospital, you said you’d stay!”

“As long as it was safe for you, and after what happened at the party, it’s clearly not safe for me to be around you, Bella.”

Edward kisses her on the forehead one last time before he leaves, probably forever

Charlie isn’t home from work so she just works on dinner in a daze with the television volume up as loud as she can stand it, NCIS blaring from the living room

Charlie confronts her when he finds out that the Cullens left town and that’s when she just cries, acknowledging it for the first time in hours

The following weeks after his departure are touch and go.

She goes weeks without getting her hair braided, and just keeps it in a bun/poof

Bella doesn’t wear makeup no matter how many times Charlie tries to entice her with the Vogue YouTube channel

“C’mon Bella, you love Saweetie,” Charlie said as if she were a toddler again, trying to get her to eat Cauliflower

It isn’t until Charlie calls her mom that she snaps out of it and Renee tells her what she needs to know

“Bella, I know you’re going through a hard time, but you have other things you need to be worrying about. It hurts, I know, but moping around ain’t gonna bring him back, and you’re not the first person to be dumped. You’re getting ready to graduate high school in less than a year, and you need to start thinking about your future.”

Renee had never spoken to her like that before but she realized her mom was right, she did need to start thinking about her plans for the future

After giving herself two more days to cry it out, Bella gets right back to business

She’s blasting Flo Milli while she gets ready for school, gets a new wardrobe and is now tutoring kids in school and La Push for some extra cash

Which is how she runs into Jacob again

She helps him with biology which turns into Charlie coming home and finding the two of them watching Guy's Grocery Games and arguing about which contestant they think is getting the boot next

Not that he’s complaining. He’s secretly hoping they’d get together

One Friday night in February, Bella invites him to the movies with a few friends from school

And it starts to go downhill when Jacob threatens Mike, who got sick halfway through the movie

Jacob reveals his feelings for Bella but she has to reject his advances

She loves Jacob, he’s been so sweet to her, but she cannot handle another relationship when she’s barely over the first one

When Bella calls him on Saturday morning to apologize, he doesn’t pick up the phone or answer any of her texts but she thinks nothing of it, chalking it up to him being sick

The next time she calls, she calls the house and Billy tells her Jacob is feeling better but that he’s not up for visitors, so she takes matters into her own hands

She spends the entire morning parked outside his house waiting for him

Bella doesn’t recognize him, he’s a lot bigger, his hair is shorter and his usually warm brown eyes look cold

Jacob tells her to go home and not to come back and Bella knows that Sam finally got him like he did Embry and he proceeds to tell her how he’s not good enough for her like the Cullens and alludes to the fact that he knows the Cullens’ secret

“You’ve been lying to everyone. Charlie… but you can’t lie to me, Bella. Go home. Or you’re gonna get hurt.”

She just stands there in the cold rain, getting soaked from head to toe, and she can’t tell if she’s crying or if it’s just the rain hitting her face

She has a strange dream involving a brown wolf the size of a horse, Jacob, and surprisingly, Edward

Bella confronts Jacob again, this time almost getting into it with Paul who turns into a wolf right in front her

Embry and Jared take her back to Sam’s house where she meets Emily

Bella and Emily get along well, and she finds out Emily is from the Makah tribe in Neah Bay, but she’s an elementary school math teacher’s assistant at the tribal school

She’s relieved when Jacob comes back to the house, safe and free of scratches and they walk along the beach and catch up

Bella is just happy that her friend is back and she vents about what’s really been bothering her: the encounter with Laurent, saying that Victoria is still looking for him

“You don’t have to worry about them. We took down the one with the locs easy enough.”

It doesn’t register for a minute so she just stands there, trying to make sense of it. “Y-you… killed Laurent?”

At this point, Bella is crying with tears of joy, her mascara smearing with tears and Jacob just holding her

Their friendship is back to normal in no time and pick up right where they left off

Bella has to remind Charlie, Angela and Jessica several times that she’s not dating Jacob

Not that she hasn’t thought about it

It would be so easy, and both of their dads would be happy, and she wouldn’t have to lie like she does with Charlie and any of her friends

One day they’re just driving around, goofing off when she sees a group of kids jumping from the cliff

She’s getting her phone out to dial 911 before Jake stops her and tells her that they’re just cliff diving

Jacob offers to take her sometime, maybe when it’s warmer out, promising they’ll start at the lower level

It’s dark when they pull up to her house and Bella starts to invite him in for dinner when she notices a familiar car parked down the street

Bella remembers everything about that car, the quiet engine as she sat in the back seat while his C*nfederate brother drove them to Phoenix, the feel of the leather seats as she slept.

They go in anyway, and Bella is surprised to see Alice sitting on the couch reading a magazine, but she needs Bella’s help because Edward is in trouble

The audacity. The sheer fucking audacity

“I haven’t heard from you in almost a year. You avoided me in the halls, you blocked my number and my email, but now when you reappear from thin air I’m supposed to help you? What do I get out of this?”

Alice insists that Edward needs Bella’s help, that she can’t do this without her

At this point Bella knows that Charlie put a tracking device on her phone, and she’s not going to risk it

Jacob begging her not to go, and she really doesn’t want to go either

Instead she writes a quick letter telling Edward not to do what he’s thinking of doing just because they’re not together, saying that she’s happy with how her life is and she gives it to Alice to pass along

Despite EVERYTHING that happened, she wants him to be safe, so Bella gives Alice the letter

“What does this mean? Would they come back?” Jacob asked after Alice had left.

Bella knows what would happen if all of the Cullens came back: more young Quileute kids turning into wolves, and she doesn’t want that to happen, but she can’t stop it from happening either

“I really have no clue, but that’s their decision, and I have no hand in that game.”

It takes three days before the Cullens return to Forks, and she’s facing Edward again one day in the woods behind her house

Bella just tells him everything she’s been feeling since he left and more

“There isn’t any hope for us, there probably never was, and we can’t pretend any of this never happened, Edward. You know that. We can’t go back to normal, because it wasn’t normal in the first place. You were right the first time, and I should’ve listened.”

It goes without saying that Bella is going to keep the secret, but she’s also going to move on with her life, and wants Edward to do the same

Alexa, play “Clean” by Taylor Swift

#bella swan #twilight fans of color #god i hope this doesn't suck

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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

Text

The Crow’s Funeral AU: Martin Fixes Everything

Stared a long while ago and wrapped up at the request of an anon. This was written because, while I was wrapping up TCF, I thought...’man, if Martin had just been able to find Jon when he woke up, none of this story would have ever happened’. Like, Daisy and Jon enable each other, but Martin just shuts that shit down. No CW that don’t apply to TCF, except maybe for very oblique references to suicide attempts.

A shadow dimmed the reading light, and Jonathan Sims irritably looked up. From his vantage point on the floor, he saw a towering figure above him - a human, somewhat circular, faintly recognizable, looking strongly as if he had run into his own personal nightmare. But no, not quite - there was something far more complicated in that face than fear. Which was a pity. If it wasn’t fear, Jonathan Sims didn’t understand it at all.

“Jon? Christ, Jon, is that you? Jon!”

Ah, Jonathan Sims thought faintly. The man from the cabin.

Maybe he should have ran further.

The man found Jonathan Sims two weeks later, reading a romance novel as he lay on the floor underneath a table.

Upstairs, seized throats choked screams. Library patrons shuddered in the Dark, early victims of a terror just beginning. Some of them would escape, staggering home to their mourning families. Some would stumble home, only to find that their families were unrecognizable to them - or they were unrecognizable to their families. Others would not escape, shivering between stacks for the rest of time.

Jonathan Sims enjoyed the ambiance, and the vast quantity of books. Books were fun. Not that the world wasn’t fun and exciting and always filled with an interesting little drama to stop and watch, but books had things the world didn’t. Like dragons and spaceships and planes. Like happy smiles and...a horse ranch? Heavily muscled cowboys? But the farmer’s daughter would never let herself fall for a wanderin’ man -

“Jon? Christ, Jon, is that you? Jon!”

Ah, Jonathan Sims thought faintly. The man from the cabin.

Maybe he should have ran further.

*****

“I cannot believe you!”

Jonathan Sims - Jon, according to this very infuriated man who was currently clamping Jon’s wrist like a vice - could do nothing but stumble after the man as he was dragged through the village. To be fair, he didn’t mind - this was the first time he had been manhandled in his life, or at least so far that he could remember. Humans didn’t really tend to touch him. They did a lot of talking and crying whenever he met them. To be honest, he had begun assuming that they were interesting conversationalists but altogether somewhat dim-witted. It was interesting to see this contrary example currently chewing his ear off.

Experimentally, he tried to open his Eye and Know who this man was and what Jonathan Sims had personally done to wrong him. But all he received was grating feedback - an infuriatingly familiar roadblock that sprung whenever Jonathan Sims attempted to understand what had brought him to that small cabin in the midst of a storm so severe it turned the sky green.

“First you run off. During the apocalypse, of all things! I spend ages running after you, absolutely unable to find hide or hair of you. Then two weeks later I catch wind of a sketchy guy making a nuisance of himself interrogating everyone in Dunbeath, and I go - great, that’s our Jon for you! What on earth do you have to say for yourself!”

Jon - he was really warming up to this moniker, it rolled off the tongue nicely - tripped over a loose rock, almost sending himself sprawling in a tumble of gangly limbs before he caught himself. “Uh, I’m not -”

“Dunbeath, Jon! You made me walk to Dunbeath in the apocalypse!”

“I’m quite sorry -”

“I don’t want a sorry!” The man released him abruptly, forcing Jon to almost windmill his arms to right himself again, and he whirled on him. But where Jon was expecting a face red with anger, he instead saw an expression crumpled up in pain. Jon realized for the first time that the man was on the verge of tears. “I was so worried, Jon! I thought you were dead, or - or worse, or so much worse. You said you’d stop running. You said that we were a team now, that you’d never leave me behind. But you left. I needed you, I was scared, and you left me. You know I’ve been through hell, and you left…”

Then, horrifically, tragically, he really did start crying.

It was quiet, less gross sobs and more soft hitches of breath, but something about it was unbearably exhausted. It was the tears of a man who had been holding them in for too long, only released because he was too exhausted to keep them inside anymore. It was oddly bestial, and very sad.

It made Jon a little sad, to see the man crying like this.

He remembered something he read in a book, just that morning. One person had been sad, and the other person had...well, the book called it hugging. He thought he might have seen it a few days ago, when an older woman clung desperately to a younger woman who kept on screaming something about beatles. It was the same principle, wasn’t it?

Experimentally, he held his arms out, feeling like a bit of an idiot, and he was rewarded (?) when the man immediately moved closer and pressed himself close to Jon, his face buried in his shoulder. It was comfortable, familiar, and instinctual, and Jon found himself loosely wrapping his arms around the man.

They...hugged. Jon felt weird about it. But it was nice? Why was it nice?

Then the man casually reached up, gently took Jon’s cheeks in his hands, and bent him down to kiss him.

Jon’s brain short circuited.

It lasted an excruciatingly long time, and also no time at all. The man released him, stepping back and frowning. It must have been something in Jon’s reaction - the way he stiffened or tensed. Or maybe, from where he was pressed up against Jon’s chest, he didn’t feel a heartbeat. Jon had read that humans had those.

“Jon?” The man asked, face creased in sweet confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Um,” Jon said, feeling unbearably awkward about all of this, “who are you, again?”

*****

At least they didn’t go back to that creepy little cabin.

Instead, Jon found that the man - “Martin, Jon, Jesus, my name is Martin!” - was staying in something called an ‘Air-Bee-en-Bee’ at the outskirts of the village. Or perhaps squatting was a better term - when Jon was guided inside, he saw the telltale signs of a life quickly disrupted. The previous resident of this cute little cottage had left in a hurry, as if it would save her.

He experimentally opened his Eyes, ignoring Martin’s - or was it Michael? - raised eyebrow, and let himself Know the information. Ah, excellent - the Hunt. She had thought that her ex-husband had chased her down to Scotland from France. Delightful. He wondered what the Ex-Husband was really doing -

“Jon! Focus, please.”

Jon guiltily let his eyes close and his hair float back down. Michael didn’t seem surprised by the display, just exhausted. He collapsed at a little circular kitchen table, a woman’s hairbrush and a newspaper still spread out on it. Jon cautiously sat down on the chair next to him, feeling strangely guilty. He didn’t know why. Maybe it had to do with how stressed out and afraid and tired the other man looked, and how Jon was sure that it was all his fault.

“This has been the worst two weeks of my life,” Martin said, face buried in his hands. “Which says a lot, really. I’ve had a real shite life, but this is really just - just beyond the pale.”

“Okay?” Jon didn’t know what to do with this. Martin seemed as if he needed to vent a little, but Jon didn’t know how to be comforting. Wait - wait, this was his speciality. He was too off guard to think of it before, but it would obviously fix this situation. Jon let his irises spin as Martin looked up from his hands, startled at their green light. “Why did -”

“Stop that,” Martin said sharply, and Jon did.

He shut up. He closed his mouth and swallowed the question. He had never - no Statement for the Archivist? - why had - what -

“I understand you’re scared and confused,” Martin explained, not answering the question of how he had done that. “But you can’t just compel people like that. No matter what the world looks like now, you know it’s wrong.”

“I - I do?” Jon asked, flabbergasted.

Martin faltered a little. “Do you not?”

They stared at each other until Jon began to feel a little defensive. As if he was doing something wrong by just - by just existing. It was eating, what wasn’t natural about that! Jon leaned back in his chair, finding himself crossing his arms. “You’re the first human I’ve had an actual conversation with, so excuse me if I don’t know how it works.”

But Martin just looked gobsmacked, mouth opening and closing as Jon begins to tire of this conversation. He unfolds his arms and leans forward, tugging the newspaper closer to him. The headline ran a cheerful story about how Farmer Douglas McIntyre had won an award for the biggest zucchini. Good for him! Jon wondered what Farmer Doug was doing now. Immediately after he had that thought, he knew exactly what Farmer Doug was doing right now, and he spared a second to feel very bad for him.

“Jon, you’re a human.”

Hm. Maybe this Martin guy didn’t know as much about Jon as he pretended. Jon didn’t look up from the newspaper, flipping the page. Oh, look, the Horoscopes. “Don’t be silly. I’m an Archive.”

That quieted Martin, who seemed to be thinking very hard. Jon tried to remember what his birthday was. He had read it on that little card that had been in his pocket - right, right, February 14th. Aquarius.

“I read the statement you left on the floor,” Martin said quietly, and Jon abruptly shut up. What statement? “Jonah lied, you know. That’s all he does, is lie. You’re not an Archive, a thing, you’re - even if you’re not human anymore, you’re a person. You know that, Jon. In your heart, even if you don’t remember. You’re more than what Jonah tried to make you.” He looked down at the table, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Jon anymore. “What he succeeded in making you, I guess.”

The words soothed an anxiety Jon didn’t even know he had. They settled something in him, calmed him and reassured him. But they incensed him too, this blatant disregard of something Jon knew was true. Martin seemed good at that, both riling him up and calming him. How was his control over Jon’s emotions so effortless, as if he wasn’t doing it on purpose at all. It was a talent.

“Who even are you?” Jon snapped, feeling flayed raw and vulnerable. But he always felt like that, really - lost and dazed. The world was too loud for him sometimes, too novel and exciting and relentless, and Jon spent long hours cooped up in a dark room with a good book just for some safety. There wasn’t anything around that could hurt Jon - he knew that like he knew he was an Archive, no matter what Martin said - but he still felt so scared, all the time. “What gives you the right to tell me who and what I am like this?”

What would ameliorate that fear? The only thing Jon could think of was to understand where he came from a little bit better, and understand what he had been doing before two weeks ago. If he had been doing anything at all. Jon had wondered if that moment was when he had been born, but - well, the clothing he was wearing had been somewhat threadbare, and the card indicated a history.

He hadn’t entirely ruled out that he was a sort of...manifestation of this newly apocalyptic world inserted inside the corpse of a man who took his last breath the second Jon took his first, but he was keeping his options open. If what Martin was saying was true, that he really was a person who had simply run afoul of Jonah Magnus and paid the ultimate price...he didn’t know if it made him feel better or worse. Maybe a little worse, actually?

But Martin just seemed shocked by the question, shocked by Jon’s need to ask it, shocked that he didn’t even understand. No, not shocked - maybe just very sad and tired. He seemed so tired. “Jon, I’m your boyfriend.”

“Oh.” That explained a lot. Jon narrowed his eyes. “But you don’t look like a cowboy,” he said, somewhat reproachfully.

Martin stifled a laugh behind a hand. Jon felt strangely pleased, even if he hadn’t been making a joke.

Then something seemed to occur to Martin, because he straightened abruptly. “Oh, god, Jon, you must have been so confused when I kissed you.” He buried his face in his hands again. “I finally get a boyfriend, and two weeks later he’s an amnesiac and it’s the apocalypse. I always said the world would end before I would find someone, I just didn’t know it would be two weeks after…”

“Do you need a moment?” Jon said sympathetically. “Or you can tell me about it? I’m quite a good listener.”

“I can’t decide if this is surreal or terrible.”

Jon felt a little lost. It was quite possibly the most familiar emotion he had - knowing what was happening but not quite understanding, frantically consuming information about the world around him while his perception of himself was hidden behind a thick wall of static.

He didn’t know what to say to make this man feel better.

“Are you sure you don’t want to give a Statement?” Jon asked hopefully. Statements were most of what he knew, and the only context in which he interacted with humans.

“I’m not giving a fucking statement, Jon!” Martin snapped, and Jon cringed. Martin’s face immediately crumpled, in what Jon was forced to assume was guilt. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m just stressed - no, Jon, I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s just - Jon, the Statements are evil. They’re bad. You always knew - Jon, you have to restrain yourself. You can really hurt someone else. Do you understand?”

No, Jon didn’t understand. He didn’t understand Martin, he didn’t understand how to relate a ‘boyfriend’ to himself, and he didn’t know why Martin kept on trying to tell him that something good was bad. Statements were good. Jon knew in his gut that Jon was nothing but Statements: that he was fear, and fear was him, and that the world was fear. That Jon was the world, strung through a sack of meat. An Archive.

“Why are you always trying to make me feel bad,” Jon said lowly, and Martin shut up. He started at Jon with wide eyes, slightly alarmed. “For a boyfriend you really seem to hate me.”

“Jon, no. I love you. I’ve never hated you, not even - I don’t think I’m capable of hating you, do you get that?” Martin’s expression softened a little, but something about it was still deeply sad. “This is a problem, but we can fix it. We just have to work together. We’ve gotten through everything, we can get through - the apocalypse and this amnesia and everything. We can do it, Jon, we just have to stick together.”

Something mysterious swirled in Jon’s chest, yet another of the frustrating emotions he just didn’t understand. It felt quite bad. “There’s nothing to fix.”

They sat there in silence, Martin sitting at the edge of the bed with his face in his hands and kneading his forehead gently. He looked tired, and defeated. Jon just sat in the little chair at the little stand, flipping aimlessly through a newspaper that held no new information at all, lost and confused.

Of course, there was one thing Jon did know. He stared curiously at Martin, whose shoulders were shaking a little. “Are you going to cry again? I haven’t even done anything to you.”

“People cry even when you haven’t hurt them, Jon,” Martin said dully into his hands.

For some reason, this made Jon oddly anxious. “Why else do people cry? I don’t understand why people are always crying. All they do is cry and scream or wail or -” Jon threw a hand out, irritated, “ - try to put themselves out of their misery, or whatever. But nothing’s happening to you and I haven’t asked you a single question. Why do humans cry all the time?”

“When we are very, very sad, Jon,” Martin said quietly. “That’s why we cry.”

Jon stared at him. Martin wiped his eyes a little, unbending, and stared at Jon very firmly. His expression was creased in unhappiness, but there was something very firm in the set of his mouth and chin. As if what he was doing was very difficult, but he chose to do it anyway. Had Jon ever done that? Did he remember?

He stood up, and Jon cautiously leaned back in his chair as Martin walked up to him. But he just knelt instead, gently taking Jon’s hand and squeezing it tight. He met Jon’s eyes fiercely, now a little lower than him, and Jon felt something strange writhe in his chest.

What was this feeling? He had never felt it before. It was…

“I promised Jon. For better or for worse.” The corners of his mouth twinged. “Well, not that particular promise, but we wanted...anyway. I’ll promise to you, here. I am here to help you. I know it’s scary. I know you may not want it. But that’s when we need it most, okay? I know you’re lost and confused. I’m not going to push you.” He faltered, just a little, and looked away. “Maybe this is for the best. Maybe you - maybe you needed this. Even if it meant that I -”

“Meant that you what?”

Martin looked back at Jon, smiling weakly. “Don’t worry about it. But I’m not going to push you to rem - to act in a way that you don’t feel is right. I just need you to listen to me and take my thoughts into consideration, alright?”

“I still need to eat,” Jon said sulkily. “You can’t stop me doing that.”

“Yes,” Martin said, face curiously blank. “I can’t stop you.”

“Good!” Jon brightened. “I suppose having a human around would be useful. There’s lots of things around I just don’t understand. You can explain things.” In a hit of magnaminty, Jon proclaimed, “And I’ll make sure that nothing eats you. That’s a real tit for that.”

“Looking forward to it,” Martin said, already seeming a little exhausted.

“Then it’s settled.” Jon squeezed Martin’s hand back and, on impulse, leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. Martin startled a little but didn’t pull away. It was nice, his stubble all scratchy and soft. “You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, Martin.”

“That was always true,” Martin teased - teased! He stood up, and Jon stood up with him. He didn’t let go of the hand, strangely attached to its warmth and pressure. When Martin faltered a little, Jon squeezed his hand even tighter. It made Jon feel better, so maybe it would help Martin. That was a nice thought: that Jon could make someone feel better, instead of worse. “You haven’t asked about yourself at all.”

But Jon just shrugged. “I highly doubt I - or Jonathan Sims, whatever - had any loved ones. It’s a surprise you even exist, honestly.”

Martin opened his mouth, then closed it. “People cared,” he said weakly.

“Lie,” Jon said severely. “Don’t lie to me, I can tell and it’s unbecoming.” But Jon was nice, and he decided to let the lie go. This time. If there was one thing Jon couldn’t abide it was chronic liars, but Martin didn’t seem the sort. “That’s all unimportant, now. We should move forward. There’s a lot of apocalypse to see, and I want to see the Flesh’s Corpse Flowers for myself. I hear that they’re made out of real -”

“I had an idea, actually,” Martin said, stopping Jon short. He looked like he strongly wanted to press the ‘loved ones’ thing, but he was refraining. Good. People shouldn’t ask him invasive questions. “I can see the tower in the distance. It has to be in London, right? And that has to be the epicenter of this. I wouldn’t have gone by myself, but with you here maybe we can find Jonah Magnus and -”

Jon didn’t know what stopped Martin short. Maybe it was the look on Jon’s face. He didn’t know what the look was, and he didn’t bother to see. All he knew was the horror in his chest, so deep and overwhelming he felt as if he could drown in it. A strange, foreign feeling, that was as familiar to him as his own body. Something that, in another person, Jon would have labelled as terror.

“ - or we don’t have to,” Martin said softly. “Why don’t we try to find the others, then? Regroup. I’m worried sick about them. You can find anyone in this world, right? Can you dig up a few humans for me? They’re our frie - well, we’re close, anyway.”

That was much easier. Although Jon wasn’t sure how he felt about more humans, it would definitely be interesting. There had to be good stories from any of Martin’s friends - maybe even people who Jonathan Sims had known. “I can do that no problem. Names?”

“Uh.” Martin thought hard. “Basira Hussain, I think, but she can take care of herself. We should probably find Georgie and Melanie first, they have to be vulnerable. What with Melanie’s - yeah, we need to make sure she’s okay. Georgina Barker and Melanie King, then?”

Sounded easy enough. Jon did the only familiar thing and let his eyes open, letting his unkept hair float gently up. Jon Looked, and Saw -

“Don’t make people up,” Jon said scornfully, a little embarrassed. “Give me a real person now, please.”

Martin gaped. “They’re real, I swear! Are they dead, or -”

“No, I’d know if they were dead. They just...don’t exist?” Jon fought the urge to pout. “I hate it when people don’t exist.”

“...do they not exist or can you just not see them?”

“What’s the difference?” Jon asked blankly, and Martin shrugged in concession of the point. “Anyone else?”

“Okay, Mr. Apocalypse Google,” Martin teased lightly, and Jon surreptitiously downloaded what a ‘Google’ was. Ah! It was funny! But what was the internet? “Basira Hussain, then? You said that the last you saw of her, she was trying to find Daisy - or what was left of Daisy.” Martin’s mouth twisted unhappily. “If Daisy hadn’t gotten to her…”

Jon Looked again, and this time he got an easy answer fed into his mind. It was a great answer too, and made Jon grin in excitement. “Basira Hussain’s fighting her way through Manchester, but I have a bead on Daisy Tonner. Fantastic! She’s a few hours away!”

“She’s what!” Martin screeched. “Oh my god, she’s going to eat us!”

“Don’t be silly, I’d eat her first.” But Jon was bouncing on his heels in excitement. This woman wasn’t a human - she was a monster, a monster who knew him, and Jon couldn’t wait to find somebody who would understand what it’s like. “Let’s go, we have to catch up!”

“Look, I know you two were friends, but she is quite literally probably a giant Hunt monster right now - alright, alright, coming!”

Jon bolted out the door, Martin hot on his heels, and there was a strange lightness in his chest that hadn’t been there before.

Jon didn’t know what or who he was - if his gut was right, and he was a simulacrum of fear assembled by Jonah Magnus, or if Martin was right, and he was a lost man without a past who had doomed the future. Maybe it was both, or neither, or something far more complicated in between. Maybe it was too complicated to Know or See, and too big to understand. Maybe it was something Jon had to figure out for himself.

Martin would help. And if he didn’t help, then it probably wasn’t a real loss. He seemed to be going through something himself, which was none of Jon’s business. Even if he was the only person in the world who had ever seemed to care about Jonathan Sims.

Well. Everyone was disappointed eventually. Jon had gotten over his own early. Martin would realize, sooner or later. That Jon was a monster, who did not not know how to receive or give love, and that he would never be able to give Martin the human he loved back.

Jon had the feeling that a lot of people had realized that about Jonathan Sims.

#my writing #like seriously though jon had spent three years in the story wondering if he had started the apocalypse on purpose and martin just #shuts that shit down #am I an evil simulcrum of fear created by jonah magnus?#no you're my boyfriend shut up #am I human or monster - who cares look at this dumb couch #anyway one must assume that in this au of an au there's hilarious trio hijinks with jon martin and daisy rampaging their way through the uk

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astringofmadhousefloozies · 4 years ago

Text

Birthday Sequence

Three friends have their birthday in a month of each other, and the parties get progressively more interesting. Content warnings for coarse language, offscreen sexuality, underage drinking and the consequences thereof.

As always, check my Twisted Wonderland Fanfiction tag for more, let me know if you enjoyed reading, and if you want to chat or ask a question, my askbox is open.

~*~*~*~

"You look great."

Idia made a whine you were certain they could hear in Savannahclaw and put his face in his hands. "Why did no one tell me about the birthday event?"

"I dunno, because we'd all assumed you'd seen everyone else put on the prissy little birthday boy suit and dance around like an idiot while I did an interview, and realized you weren't exempt."

"But why didn't you make Crowley skip me?" He looked ready to cry, so you you got up on tiptoes to kiss his nose and dry his tears, which simply had the opposite effect.

"Because maybe I wanted to see you dressed up pretty for a change?"

He just groaned. "Wasn't the festival enough?"

"Never enough; not with you. I'll make sure me and Ortho are your bodyguards, okay? Now, get out there and pretend they're all in their underwear. I got a present on the table for you. And..."

"And?"

"If you're truly overwhelmed, I'll bring you back here to hide, and get you out of the monkey suit myself."

It took him three seconds to turn a truly absurd shade of pink, and flee out the door of his room. The only thing scarier than a crowd where you're the center of attention is a lover who's relentless in voicing her attraction, if you're a neurotic dweeb with a molten core of self-hatred.

~*~*~*~

He'd relaxed somewhat as the presents went on. After checking with each person if they'd rather he open it now or in private (shuddering every time someone said now, in fear of bad reactions), he'd so far wound up with a super mega deluxe vinyl release of the Moirai's most recent album (despite not owning a record player, but it came with the digital album and lots of feelers so he still liked it very much), piles of sweets, and wouldn't have to pay for the subscriptions on most of his game for at least two years. And, he still had a pile to go through.

"Who's this one?"

"That's me. Go ahead."

He lifted the lid off the box, and took out a little creature, a sofubi toy of transluscent grey plastic painted with pearly stripes and shiny green eyes. "I've never seen this Nyarochi before." He turned it this way and that, a small smile on his lips. "Where'd you get this?"

"I got it blank at that second hand shop you showed me."

"... Blank." You could see the gears turning.

"Why do you think I asked to borrow your airbrush?"

Turning, turning... there we go. "You did this?"

"Yeah, dude. One of a kind, just for you."

He looked back and forth between you and the toy, smile growing. Once finally settled on you, he lit up - literally; his hair let out a bright, sparking burst that left spots in your eyes. You think he might have said thank you, you were too busy reeling from the sweetness of his expression, all directed at you, and little Nyarochi was tucked in his jacket pocket until he finally left for his room, you in tow.

~*~*~*~

"Hey Sam."

"Hey, Yuu. What can I get for you this fine day?"

"I got a list. I'm making something for Lilia. Did you know he's a new year's baby?"

"I did!" Sam scanned the list, only to set it down and raise an eyebrow at you. "I have much of this, and can order almost all the rest. You do know I'm not allowed to sell alcohol to a minor."

"It ain't for me, though. Do you know where I can get it?"

He shuffled around in a drawer before sliding a card across the table. "In Stock Now! The solution to your problem."

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. "Sam. Does Crowley know you're selling fake IDs?" Your turned it over. "Really, really good fake IDs?"

"Crowley lets me do what I want, because I might stop doing what he wants."

You laughed. "Gross. Alright, I don't know the price, but can I get a discount if I help you stock a few weekends?"

"I'll do layaway just for you, if you come in next week."

~*~*~*~

"Yuu!" Lilia leapt at you, and you swung him around in a hug. "It's so great to have you here! Where's my loot?"

"I got to finish it, let me go a minute."

He did, and watched with interest as you set up from your cooler. You ran a lime around the rim of a glass, and crust it with red salt before filling it with ice.

"Yuuuuuuu. My little darling. You know I'm too young to drink."

"No you're not, dude. it's an open secret, like what happens in that shed behind the gym stays there and you don't get admitted to NRC if you're completely heterosexual." You added the mix to the glass, before tossing in a celery stick and sliding it over to him.

He barked out a laugh and took the glass. "That's true all right." He sipped at it and smiled. "What is it?"

"At home they call it a Caesar. I made up a shitton and I'm leaving you with the recipe, which you have to follow. I figure you liked your tomato juice, so..."

"It is just my taste. Thank you." You'd only blinked, and he'd already finished it and slid the glass back. "More, please."

~*~*~*~

You'd learned two things tonight, of which you'd only dimly suspected one. The first was that Lilia could probably drink the entire school under the table, staff and ghosts included. The second, far more interesting thing, was that when tipsy, Lil talked about his past, and in his past, he truly redefined the meaning of "absolute slut".

Looking like a particularly cute teenybopper had not stopped him from fucking his way through most of the Court of Thorns, and a great deal of the places he'd visited, in ways both inventive and more than occasionally disturbing. You really, really ought to stop him; poor Mal was standing out on the balcony with his fingers in his ears, singing very loudly to drown out the noise, but you were too busy taking notes. Kalim was listening to his fellow Light Music Club member in awe, and Cater had been recording for the past forty five minutes, though you were pretty sure if he uploaded any of this his Magicam account would get permabanned for pornographic content.

"And that's when his sister - fabulous woman, cunt like a ripe fig and she'd start giggling every time you..." he stopped and swirled his empty glass. "Where'd my drink go?"

"You drank it all, dear. There's none left."

"Aww. Why'd I have to share it all." He set his glass down and plucked the half-full one from in front of Silver's sleeping form. "Hey, did I ever tell you what I got up to with his," nodding out towards Malleus,"his grandmother?"

You never found out, as Mal simply bodied him clean across the room before any more could be said.

~*~*~*~

"Vil."

"What."

"Can I borrow your lab equipment?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Why."

"I wanna make perfume."

He brightened. "Finally decided to stop smelling like a haunted house?"

"Vil, I actually pay real money for perfume that smells like a haunted house. I have multiple. Sometimes I layer them, to mix with the natural scent of the haunted house I already live in. And it's not for me, though if this works I might try to make stuff for myself."

He wrinkled his nose at you, somehow not creasing his makeup. "Why should I help you?"

You thought about it, and then shrugged. "Well. Why not?"

"... I hate that I can't argue with that. Come on."

~*~*~*~

You have no idea if the party was sedate because of the relatively few people outside of Diasomnia, or because everyone was scared of potential etiquette breaches. You could not complain either way; parties wore on you as they went on and Idia hadn't tried to leave in fear. Either way, Mal was starting to go from blandly cheerful host to fretful.

"What if there is too much cake? I don't wan't to have to finish it."

"You don't have to, dude. Cake's for sharing."

"When I was young, I was the only person at my party who wasn't a servant. So I would end up eating the entire cake by myself, every time." He stared off into the middle distance. "I don't really like cake."

"That's the single saddest thing I have ever heard in my entire life, holy shit dude."

"Why have a cake then, if you don't like it?" Idia was halfway through his piece. Third piece, actually. You envied his capacity to eat what seemed like his weight in buttercreme and not get nauseous, even if you worried for his pancreas.

"Tradition," Mal said, as if he was explaining the most obvious thing in the world.

"You should have done an ice cream cake, then. You actually like that."

"That is an option?" He paused, eyes full of wonder. "What else can be ice cream?"

You cut in before Malleus could continue down a road of ice-cream-everything. "You know, if you're that worried about leftovers, why not send a wrapped slice with the thank you cards for the gifts? Gets rid of it all so you won't be compelled to eat it ‘til you're sick."

Mal instantly grabbed you. "You are a brilliant, amazing, genius of a person. I'm glad you're my Son of Man and I like you very much."

Idia gave the tinest of coughs, looking towards the poison-coloured flames in the fireplace.

"You are mine too. I like the special case for my Dragon-Kun very much."

"Thought you would." He smiled down at his plate.

"Oh, shit, yeah. Here's mine." You brought the bag out from behind your seat and handed it over; Mal shredding it in his excitement.

"... What is this?" the box inside revealed a set of five amber bottles with screw-on tops.

"Your own special perfume blend. Rose petals from the Heartslabyul garden, blackberries, and the fruit of a blackthorn tree." You leaned back in your seat and struggled not to laugh at your own hideous pun. "I call it Feeling Thorny."

Good thing the box was well padded, because he dropped it in his laughter. Idia, bless his heart, wound up choking on some of the cake and needed an entire glass of water to stop coughing.

"I got the goods!" Lilia and Sebek had returned, the latter glowering at you over the top of a dusty crate as though he'd assumed you'd simply eat his precious prince alive the second his back was turned.

"What's the goods, Lil."

"Well, he's got friends he made here for this party, so I figured I'd crack something open from my stash." He pried the top of the crate with his bare hands, which would have made you need to sit down if you hadn't been already. "Saving this for a special occasion."

"Lilia, there's no need to bring that out for us."

"Nonsense! You deserve it! And this party's too damned slow. A little wine will be just the thing, and this is very light stuff, you'll all be fine."

You doubted that, but still accepted the glass of liquid gold when offered. It smelled sweet and floral, and to your pleasant surprise, did not taste like fermented misery when sipped.

Wait a minute.

"Lil, if I drink the fairy wine, I don't have to go live in the Valley of Thorns forever, do I?"

Malleus, seizing opportunity, sad "Yes" at the same time Lilia said "No" and Lil elbowed Mal in the ribs for it. "I'm not invoking any of our more traditional rules of hospitality. If I must," he said, elbowing Mal again before he could try to weave anything, "Let this be in return for being such wonderful friends to both me and my boy."

"I'll accept it." You sipped more as Silver wandered over and leaned over Idia for a glass himself. Idia simply drained his own to try and distract himself from the proximity of him before the anxiety kicked into high gear. Maybe it would vanish entirely if you got him profoundly drunk, you thought to yourself, but that wasn't something you wanted to try. He had enough issues without his deciding alcoholism was the solution to his problems.

Time to settle down and enjoy the evening. The wine didn't feel like anything, so what could possibly happen?

~*~*~*~

You woke up with a pounding head, your party clothes in disarray, and new and interesting pains. You examined yourself and your surroundings, and let things come back naturally.

Lilia, being very generous with his bottles, to the point of not letting a glass go empty at any point. Malleus sitting with his legs crossed and head in his hands, gazing warmly and not without hunger at a both very animated and disheveled Idia as he talked. You getting up to leave, and sitting right back down because your legs didn't work, so you'd simply...

Simply wound up here in Mal's bed, instead of home. With both of your boys.

The evidence wasn't the best. No telltale soreness, but you had a number of new and interesting bite marks, including one very high on your inner thigh with the dentition clearly showing fangs. Your underwear was in place, even if the tule of your pannier was shredded, so you didn't think you'd done anything more than very heavy petting. And to tell the truth? The idea of having done anything more didn't bother you - truly, there weren't other people you'd rather have done it with - but the idea that you had? And you couldn't recall all the fun details? Agonizing.

You leaned over, holding your head, to brush the hair off of Mal's face. He looked at ease, and had managed to slot himself into his weird pillows, so at least he wouldn't wake up with a crick in his neck.. You checked your boyfriend, clinging to Mal's far side like a lanky blue limpet. On his collarbone, at the spot where you preferred to leave your own marks, was a bite similar to the one on your leg. You had to turn away at the sight; the images it brought to your mind left your flushed and dizzy with want despite your pain. How fun, to learn new and interesting things about yourself.

Idia stirred and sat up. He looked to you, to Mal, to you again. His face had no expression beyond starting to turn rapidly grey and sweaty.

You pointed. "That door."

He nodded once before stumbling off to bed and through the bathroom door, to puke away his hangover.

Alright, next step. You poked at your sleeping friend. "Mal. You alive?"

He opened both eyes, bloodshot with a hair-thin pupil, and started making a noise akin to a base boosted tea kettle up 'til you placed a pillow over his head to shut him up. Fortunately, it worked immediately, he lay where he was like an idiot until adjusting it so the pillow merely blocked the top of his face.

"Yuu. How are you feeling?"

You thought about it. "Like I got run through a laundry press. You?"

He smacked his lips and ran his tongue over his teeth. "My mouth has grown fur."

"Wonderful."

"Light hurts."

"Par for the course."

"I'm not sure what else yet. Where is Shroud?"

Another bout of heaving from Malleus's bathroom answered that thoroughly.

Mal pouted. "Poor thing. He didn't even have that much."

"We all had enough. I'm still remembering bits and pieces."

He reached towards you and grabbed your arm, squeezing. "You are... you..." As much as he struggled for the words, the anxiety in his voice made the meaning clear enough.

"I'm not upset over any of it. I just hate that I don't recall it clearly yet." You extracted your arm from his grasp, and slid off the bed. "I'm gonna get water from the hall bathroom. You want any?"

He smacked his lips again, and smiled, wider than you'd ever seen him do before, specks of blood still crusted in the grooves of his teeth. "I can still taste you on my tongue. I never want it to fade."

"Hhhhhholy shit you need water. Bye." You left to try and hide the wobbling in your legs that wasn't from the hangover.

~*~*~*~

"You."

You stopped, and stared. It took an entire four seconds to realize that the large, half-dressed green bean glaring at you from the doorway was Sebek before he styled his hair in the morning. "You mean like, my name, or just me in general?"

He pointed a finger, hissing out his words. "You finally did it! You evil little minx."

"I didn't, actually, or at least not what you think."

He kept going, trying to keep his voice down. "You've seduced Lord Malleus! And now you're going to try and steal the crown."

What in the actual fuck. And he wasn't done yet. "You cruel temptress! Leading him on just so that you could become a queen our people would detest! My poor lord, at the whims of some-"

"Hey, you jealous there, Zig? You mad you aren't serving him all ways? If you want his dick so bad-"

"Shhhhhhhhh!" He looked over his shoulder, back inside, before glaring back at you. "I couldn't do that in good conscience! Lord Malleus deserves someone who holds only him in their heart. He's not my whole heart, so I wouldn't try. You, you have damn near everyone here wrapped around your fingers! And it's still not enough for you!"

"Sebek! He is my friend. And I give zero fucks about the whole throne thing, just so you know. Why would I want to be a queen? That shit sounds exhausting. And he isn't going to ascend until my great grandkids are in the dirt, so, yanno, shit planning if I tried."

Sebek was trying to think of a rebuttal when a pair of hands squeezed him from behind. "Stop yelling. I'm going to brush my teeth." Silver let go and circled around, dragging his hand along Sebek's waist as he did. "Be ready when I'm back." With that, he walked past you with his small smirk to the bathroom you'd just exited, wearing nothing but one of Sebek's shirts.

You watched the hemline skirting the back of his thighs with entirely too much interest before looking back at Sebek. "God damn, dude."

"Say anything else and I will throw you out the window."

~*~*~*~

Mal had traded his bed for sitting on the floor, braced against the wall by the bathroom. He'd managed to close the drapes against the garish light of morning, and the sounds from beyond the wall had changed from sickness to a running shower as you gave Mal a cup. "Drink up, asshole."

"How am I an asshole?"

"Because it's your birthday we all got drunk at."

"Please blame Lilia for that. Fairy wine is not something humans should start the evening with." He sipped the water and grimaced.

"Taste bad?"

"I forgot I didn't want to put anything else in my mouth after you."

"Mal, no. There won't be a repeat, even if I don't really regret it."

He looked at you with heart about to break. "Why not?"

"It's not fair to either of you! I love you dearly, but I'm not in love with you. I'm in love with him." You sighed. Even as more of last night came back, you realized you may have broken the whole thing beyond repair. "And how would you like it if you saw me running around with someone else? Don't say you wouldn't be jealous. You've got a five mile streak of it."

Mal was silent, before saying very quietly, "I don't mind so much after having him too."

"Yeah, well." You put your head in your hands. "You're sure he didn't jump out the window to hide in his room forever after that?"

Mal knocked againt the door, wincing at the noise. "Idia? You are present? You're alive in there?"

A few moments before that shaky reply of "I'm not sure, check in five minutes."

Mal smiled. "That's promising, is it not?"

"You know I can hear you out there, right?"

"I didn't."

"I can." More silence. "Also, the window doesn't open."

You quirked your mouth. "Is the shower helping? I might need a turn."

"Some."

"Do you want to talk about last night?"

More silence, before a small, "Not yet," as the shower shut off. "Can I borrow a robe? My clothes are wet."

"Go ahead, Idia."

He exited in a cloud of steam and purple-black terrycloth, and simply laid down on the floor, gripping it as if he would fly off.

"Still bad?"

He noded, cheek pressed against the floor. Fresh from the water, his hair was low enough that you could make out the actual hair on his head, each glowing like the finest fiber optic thread.

"Well. I don't think any of us are going to class today. So stay as long as you need to."

"Thank god, I don't want to try those damned stairs until my head's on right." You thought to yourself for a moment. "Is Ortho okay?"

Idia actually managed a smile. "I told him I was thinking of staying over and trying to activate event flags."

It took you a moment to understand the implications of that. "Noooo. This was not your idea."

"Mal wasn't. But. Ummmmm." He held up a hand and wiggled it. "He was there?"

"Your boyfriend is interestingly pliable when someone puts their mouth on him. A trait you both share, actually."

You felt ready to burst into flames. This could not be happening. "So who's idea was you getting under my skirts, Mal? That bruise is going to last weeks."

"Yours, actually. You wouldn't let go of my horns until you were satisfied."

The memory of that, and more, hit you like a transport truck, and you simply laid down and refused to say anything until Lilia burst in, disgustingly chipper and with a platter of burnt toast to chew on until the worst of the hangover was gone.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfiction #idia shroud #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia

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ephemerlskies · 5 years ago

Text

the lighthouse | jjk

⇢ pairing: reader x jungkook

⇢ genre: one shot, fluff (what's new), strangers to "lovers", mutual pining, so much sap you're gonna have to shower after reading this, ANGST, jungkook is a literary scholar (?) of sorts

⇢ word count: 12k

⇢ warnings: as stated before, it's Cheesy with a capital C, lots of introspection, brief mentions of death, explicit language, mommy issues, (((major plot twist)))

⇢ summary: you and jungkook had one thing in common: you were both lost souls stagnant in the search of some fulfillment. the one of many differences was that your story had been written on your sleeves, while jungkook’s was a story needed to be unriddled. was this going to be another disappointing chapter in the book of unattainable desires or could your encounter with the mysterious man who lived in the lighthouse lead to something much more?

a/n: i'm super proud of how this turned out even though it ripped my heart out of my chest... this was probably my favorite fic to write and ahh im so happy to release it!!!! i hope you lovely little angels enjoy!! :) <3

What makes us human? This question posed by your philosophy teacher had been stalking your thoughts hours after class had ended. As the rain padded against your umbrella, you piled in a few answers to this question.

What makes us human? A question that would seemingly have a clear cut answer, but when you got down to it, there was no distinct characteristic that differentiates humans from other animals. It was easy to say something such as how we have complex linguistics or industrialized civilization, but that is to discredit how the packs of wolves howl to each other, the birds sing from tree to tree, the beavers diligently construct their dams, or the dirt cities in which ants build their own societies not much different than humans.

You pondered the idea that we love so deeply, even when it is often unreturned, but there is no denying the way a mother bear strikes down any and all enemies to protect her baby cub is anything other than true love.

So, what makes us human? You sat on a bench placed on the sidelines where you could witness small scenes of the lives of passing strangers. This sonder might be what makes us human. The knowledge that each person lives and loves and cries and fears and speaks and dies in ways with which you will never begin to familiarize. Life continues on around you despite how unimportant it may seem to the rest.

Does a lion waste any moment of his time wondering how the deer had found its way to the shallow pond, whilst preparing to strike? Of course not.

You watched a couple clinging onto each other and wondered where they met. You then were captured in the peace of an old woman prodding around in the grass with her golden retriever; perhaps it was her last companion. Then, your eyes drifted towards the two boys pushing each other over but with the gentleness one could only assume that was out of friendship or perhaps brotherhood.

And then you saw him.

Gentle fingers tracing the stacks of magazines lined in a perfect column; an arm that disappeared into the sleeve of his dark, wool coat. A tweed newsboy hat sheltering his eyes, and deep chestnut Oxford shoes stepping lightly, nearing a tiptoe, between the cracks of each cement plate, weathered by the infinite other shoes that tread on those very grounds. A body so magnetizing and moving as if it were a secret, and you couldn’t imagine why no one else had been ingested by the enigma that is this man. You longed for him to reveal these secrets that hid underneath his hat and coat, though if he wouldn’t, which he most likely wouldn’t, you had no problem with seeking them out yourself.

In a city filled with young souls draped in modern streetwear, jeans, bright colors, and converse or Dr. Martens or perhaps high heels, catching this needle in the haystack plugged into every synapse of wonderment. The muted tones of his clothing gleamed the brightest out of the sea of strangers.

This is what made you human. Your desire to know everything that lies barely beyond your wingspan. Everything you could hold was close to nothing in meaning, and everything your arms could not reach was always all you could ever want. The rise of your legs, the way you replicated his every movement, running your fingers along the stack of magazines, fastidious prancing in the spaces between the cracks, and your subtle pursuit of the man just out of reach was what made you human.

Bodies bustling through your path failed to untether you from this chase. It felt far beyond your power to stop yourself from the rising excitement and allure in your chest that pulled you towards him. The man was quick and swift to dodge oncoming bystanders, however your eyes became a missile fixed on a target.

The unexpected turn he took had you floundering for you had been trapped behind an older lady and a couple walking side by side. Sadly, your memorization of the streets and landmarks had been admisal, so you found yourself in uncharted territory. Each road sign and corner store had been displayed like a foreign language, and you mentally cursed yourself for letting your silly lust for learning what shouldn’t be learned lead you into this difficult position.

You stood defeated, the man had evaded your fragile trail behind him with ease. You lost him, or maybe he got away.

It was still midday, prompting you to make an end of this means. Your eyes discovered the coast set along the edge of the town, and though this was the furthest you had ever gone, you dared to go further. This mishap of yours granted you the opportunity to introduce yourself to the shore, and the waves have always delighted your interest. So, you found it just to walk down to the sand. The sound of the water pressing into the wet sand was calming; it was something you could find yourself getting used to. Luck presented itself kindly, giving you a moment unencumbered by the rain that had ceased not long after you stepped foot on the beach.

You took this time to be with yourself and sort out all the problems that have been worrying your mind these past few weeks. Your best friend, Chaeyoung, had an upcoming birthday that had snuck up on you before you had the chance to even think about getting her a card, let alone a gift or celebration. And you would be disappointed with yourself if you failed to outdo last year’s efforts. There was also the test in your Chemistry class scheduled only a day after her birthday, curtailing your plans of staying out late because there was no way you would allow for anything less than your very most on this exam. Then, there was the essay on what makes us human that you denied any chance of regaining priority to your list of worries, knowing it would gnaw at your mind until you forcibly shut it out.

And the man that willed you to seek him out, and that wore the title of his stories as if he intentionally wished to spark your wonder to learn them.

That should have been the last of your worries. It should have been.

The day began to fade into a warm, orange dusk. Skies once gloomy and grey now covered in blankets of clouds reflecting the sun’s gentle rays and you found yourself reunited with the calming feeling similar to when you first stepped on the beach.

Not long after registering how far you had traveled along the shore, you noticed a quaint lighthouse with a house-like structure at the base. The off-white stones cemented up until a red paneled roof covered it, tempting you to know what lies behind those walls.

It looked like it was about to rain again.

Are lighthouses closed off from the public?

There’s a house, there must be someone inside that could help me find my way home.

All these comments to yourself made to premise the conclusion of entrance into this lighthouse. As you approached the door, framed in oak lining and painted red, the clouds appeared heavy once again. A few drops of condensation was enough persuasion that what was about to be done was for the good of your well being. You pushed it open and a creak echoed around the room inside.

The walls were covered with stone bricks and there was one table in the center of the room. Other than that, this house was barren and if it weren’t for the second door that you guessed led to the lighthouse you would have called a car to take you home.

Your walk was pensive and mouse-like; there was some quality about this structure that made you feel like you weren’t alone and sudden movements would disrupt an established peace. Your hand turned the cold, gold-plated handle and pulled open the door, soon being met with a warm gust of air that engulfed you into the lighthouse.

This part of the building was exponentially more decorated than the room that preceded it. A staircase cemented into the sides of the lighthouse plastered with shelves upon shelves of books spiraled along the cylindrical walls, paired with dull lanterns that illuminated each level of railing had you drawn into its magnificence.

You stared up to what looked like a platform that held a place in which one would rest and look out into the ocean. There was no one in sight, and you assumed permission to climb up the staircase. Your eyes scanned each spine, creased and slightly warped from the moisture of the air, like they had been read over and over again. Your breath became heavy and your stare was focused on the books to ignore the dizziness settling in.

Reaching the top of the staircase came as a blessing, your lungs were close to catching fire. There were two armchairs, side by side, one fashioned a knitted blanket and the other was used as a table for five to seven or so novels, and the walls behind buried in high stacks of more books. There had to be at least seventy in the first half of piles you accounted for, and before you had the chance to snoop around the rest of the room you heard a voice coated with alarm behind you.

“What are you doing in here?” Your breath halted as you turned around, about to explain why you had let yourself into this building, however no amount of words could fully justify this invasive act.

You recognized the wool coat and the tweed hat now resting in his hand instead of on his head. His eyes were shrouded in a youthful innocence despite his attire that implied he was a sophisticate of some sort.

“Are you going to answer me or do I have to call the police?” The boom of his voice was chilling, sending shivers along your neck and chest.

“Sorry, I’m-” How could you possibly defend your intrusion without sounding juvenile or absolutely insane? “I was… It was raining and I just was walking on the beach so-”

“So, you decided breaking and entering was better than getting a little wet?” His barbed responses hurdled how you plaintively stuttered around excuses. Despite his efforts to seem menacing, you couldn't let go of his boyish facial features. It was absolutely astonishing to you that someone who looked young enough to attend your own college and handsome enough to garner quite a bit of attention had anything to do with this dingy, aged lighthouse.

“No, I was going to come in here to ask for directions. I’m lost.” The pitiful temperament of this comment was not intentional, but the man who now stood in front of you felt itched by it. He couldn't ignore how your legs trembled, partly from the cold but also because of his raised voice directed at you, and how that admittedly aroused some guilt.

“It’s fine. Just-” He sighed deeply, placing his hat on the side table adjacent to the left armchair, “You can just wait here until the rain stops. Though, I have to say it looks unrelenting at the moment.” The man’s attention was captured by how the heavy rain seemed to wage war against the raging tides. You caught a glimpse of a smile. The slightest upturn of the corner of his lips almost compelling you to reveal you had spotted him in the town earlier today, and that you found yourself enamoured with his every movement, and he was ironically the reason you were stuck here.

“Are you sure? I can go, I shouldn't have been here in the first place.” The words escaped from your mouth quickly as if they were trying to race each other to be spoken.

“No, I said it’s fine.” The suddenness of this offer hushed you. He then removed his wool coat, unveiling the clothes he wore beneath it. The burgundy crew neck sweater layered tastefully over a collared shirt was just as old fashioned as every other article of clothing he sported. How intriguing.

“I'm sorry.” Your muscles grew sore from suppressing how aggressively you would have been shaking from the cold. “Thank you.” Him granting you shelter gave you motive to keep the umbrella that would suffice to protect you from the rain under wraps. The option he presented was far more favorable.

“Sit down. Please, use this blanket.” He gestured towards the throw draped over the right armchair. His eyes avoided you as much as he could manage though you had this glow emulating from your wanting eyes and soft looking skin that crept to the corner of his vision too brightly to ignore. Consequently, this comment soothed both your body and mind for he unguarded a kindness that was hidden when he first spoke to you.

“My name is ___.” He was facing the window that displayed the sea, now thrashing and falling into itself, and without moving his head, his eyes drifted towards you.

“I know who you are.”

“Wh- How?” Maybe accepting an invite in a secluded lighthouse on the beach wasn’t the safest thing you could be doing on a Friday afternoon. Anxiety pioneered a place in your breathing, turning it rushed and choked.

Before your mind could theorize all the ways in which you could make an escape from this room or how quickly you could use your hidden umbrella as a weapon he said, “I noticed you following me in the town’s square earlier today.” You sighed, releasing the terror that pricked your lungs. If anything, it was he who should be afraid of you.

“I’m not a stalker!” That weak defense was all you could push from your throat before any well constructed explanations could be put forth.

His laugh, along with his cryptic gaze towards the waves, made you feel even worse about your actions.

“You were just so stunning and I wanted to know what kind of person still wears a newsboy hat without trying to make a statement.” Your lower lip tucked between your teeth stopped the nervous laugh about to spill and expressed worry that the more you tried to explain yourself, the more this man believed you should be charged for stalking not to mention trespassing.

“Stunning?”

“I mean, like, someone I’d want to meet.”

“What were you planning on doing once I stopped somewhere, or noticed you?” He questioned you only because he relished how you were scrambling to a proper defense. He knew you weren’t any threat to him, not many people were, however he enjoyed your chatter more than the silence that would have taken its place.

“I don't know, maybe just… introduce myself?” This sheepish, yet honest, reply had you drowning in humiliation, while the man before you seemed as if he were floating effortlessly along the surface.

“I’m Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” Relief replaced the worry that he would turn you away, leaving you to the hands of the storm outside. The fact that any other person would have done so led you to believe Jungkook held a lot more compassion than he let on. You held your hand to greet him, finding it only polite to execute this formality. His, however, remained folded behind his back, notably denting your ego as you retracted your hand quicker than you extended it.

“Okay.” You muttered to yourself in slight embarrassment from this trivial rejection. “So, do you live here or something?” Your question was first replied to with a breath of annoyance. Jungkook was kind enough to allow you a sanctuary from the rain, exemption from the intrusion and stalking, and now he found himself having to entertain you.

“Yeah, something like that.” All this disinterested answer did was persist your attempts to break his catatonic gaze. However, his reserve had been solidified steadily over the years, so this venture was going to be tough.

“I didn’t know you could live in a lighthouse?” Your inquiry was spoken with the hopes this would ignite a lasting conversation.

“It’s not a lighthouse, technically.” Jungkook’s affirmative tone flew right over your head, conjuring even more annoyance that oddly enticed him to continue responding to your dense questions.

“Well, it looks like a lighthouse. It’s shaped like a lighthouse. It’s on the beach, just like a lighthouse.” A chuckle joined the sigh of his breath and his head that shook at your shallow observations. Jungkook eventually turned around and made his way towards the stacks of books, trying to preoccupy himself from whatever this exchange was. “All signs point to this being a lighthouse.”

“Well, it’s not. Lighthouses are meant to send signals to the ships out at sea. This doesn't,” His curt response tickled your amusement, only encouraging you to further aggravate him. “Therefore, not a lighthouse.”

“Okay,” You sounded agreeable, but this was soon followed by a doubtful comment whispered just loud enough for Jungkook’s ear to catch it, “It’s a lighthouse.” He found his stoicism melting away due to your spiteful attitude and conniving giggle in the face of his frustration. You wanted to get a rise out of him, and he knew this, and you were doing a fine job at it.

“It’s not-” His voice elevated with excitement, but he soon tamed the defensiveness threatening to spill from his lips, “Do you want to go back out into the rain?”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Though, you sounded all but remorseful. The sly smirk resting on your face matched Jungkook’s satisfied expression, despite these smiles surfacing for different reasons. You couldn’t deny how humorous it was to distemper this man. How all the worries you laid out like the pebbles and seashells on this beach were washed away by the tides. Meanwhile, his grin provided little contribution in masking his enjoyment of your company and relentless curiosity.

You now sat in the right armchair, bundled in the blanket. It was not necessarily a thick blanket, but the chills once disturbing you had dwindled almost immediately. You were still entranced by Jungkook's movements. His hands were now occupied with a book from one of the stacks he’d been eyeing; the way he cradled the book like it was a newborn baby further revealed he had a somewhat protective attitude towards them.

“What are you reading?” His eyes remained between the pages and lines of the book, but his focus was yet again thieved by your incessant curiosity. Jungkook thought it irritating similarly to how one would find a cat disrupting their owner from work, annoying yet ever so endearing, and adorably distracting.

“I’m not reading, I’m being bothered by you.” His snark was meant to damage your brazen pestering, but unknown to him it merely fueled it.

“Boohoo.” No matter how elementary that retort was, you still managed to fever him and hold hostage his attention.

“I’m reading The Odyssey.” Jungkook surrendered to you, placing the book on his lap that was now sitting in the armchair next to yours. “Why do you ask so many questions?” His eyes laid on you the same way they laid on the sea, filled to the brim with fascination.

“I just wanted to know what you were reading.” Even when he expressed a clear indication that he was past your nonsense, it went unnoticed like the particles of dust flitting around the darkened room. This oblivion of yours prompted your next question. “Could you read it to me?”

His eyebrows furrowed at this request. Jungkook had already found himself exhausted by your persistence, and predicted ‘no’ would not be accepted as a viable answer. He just sighed and began to read aloud.

His soft voice somehow drowned out the sea’s commotion. The words flowed off his tongue as if he wrote the book himself; such poise for a young man lured you to immerse yourself in his narration and time grew more and more abstract.

After a bit, Jungkook paused to examine how you'd received his reading and he was pleased to find your chin resting in your palm and your eyes and ears fixed onto him as if he were reading the gospel. This made it difficult, impossible, to deny entry for the subtle blush working its way on his cheeks.

“Are you satisfied?” He closed the book, peering out of the window to check if the weather had eased since you arrived. Though the intensity of the storm hadn’t lightened in the slightest, there was a new tranquility adopted by the drizzling sky waters that sank and fed into the waves.

“Never.” You replied with a hungered conviction twisted into your words, “What happens next?”

Jungkook laughed in shock of how eager you were to hear more of this story. It was unlike someone who wasn’t well versed in literature to genuinely enjoy listening to this archaic novel.

“Why are you laughing? Read more!” Your whine came off a bit childlike, but succeeded in its goal.

“It’s getting late.” He commented with a gentle sternness, though he proceeded to reopen the book. Your peculiar attention naturally drew him to oblige your desires. Even in the midst of a storm, even as the hours slipped by and the evening had been born, he continued to read.

You settled back into your chair in rejoice that you’d get to spend a bit more time with Jungkook. He was practically a stranger, and still there was a climate of comfort and intimacy that took the place of the crisp, winter air when he read from his book. He felt it too, and that was reason enough to allow you this company.

Throughout the chapter he had been working to finish, he snuck glances to find your eyes growing heavy with sleep as each page turned. Jungkook halted from reading and was trapped in the flush of your cheeks and lips and how your mouth hung slightly ajar as you inhaled the cold, wet air of the lighthouse. The puffs of breath that billowed from your lips had him yearning to know a warmth so full with life and curiosity.

“Are-” Jungkook tensed at the idea of disturbing your sleep, as if you hadn’t barged into his life without a hint of permission. “Are you asleep?”

Your head lifted slowly, then held stiff to maintain consciousness, “I was just resting my eyes. I’m not tired, I want you to read more.” You said this in spite of knowing you would drift asleep if he did.

“I think we are done reading for now.” The book closed for the last time, his hands pressing against the cover to seal his assurance. “You should head home.”

“But, I don’t know how the book ends.” This weak argument came from a place of jaded desperation. Regardless, he almost fell victim to your subdued urgency but any sensibility he could garner warned him not to allow this. You were quite obviously tired and he prefered you be safe in your own bed before the night advanced.

“Well, that’s because I only just started this book and it is very, very long.” Jungkook hoped this would usher you out even if that meant the return of loneliness would seep between the pillows of the right armchair after you left him with his solitude.

“Well, I won’t be able to get these questions out of my mind unless I finish the book.” Another weak argument drained from your inventory of excuses. Maybe a change of subject would present an opportunity to linger in his company. “Also, why do you live here all alone?”

“I just do. I feel like I don’t have to explain this to you.” Jungkook was bewildered at his admission to give you, an unannounced and uninvited visitor, any explanations and still he was close to doing exactly that. “You’re quite invested in my personal life.” As much as that was true, his withdrawal from your curiosity wasn't all that effortful. Living in secrecy and desolation had the feeling of companionship nearly vanishing from his memory and you reunited him with that warmth. And, he had not realized how it had nearly been forgotten or how much he missed it until he finally felt it again.

“You seem like someone who has better things to attend to.” The lament that stained his words bore such heartache that was soon displaced in your chest.

“No, no. My life is boring, and I don’t know. What person wouldn’t be interested in the personal life of a hermit who lives in a lighthouse?” You stood and paced around the platform towering over the swirling bookshelves below, towering over what felt like the entire world with Jungkook. The end of the blanket trailed your footstep as your drooping eyes skimmed the multicolored novels which were remarkably arranged alphabetically by author. How he had the time or patience to organize the hundreds of books he owned was beyond your comprehension. Every detail you acquired from Jungkook was stored in a compartment of your heart, almost as if it were assigned by fate. They were told in riddles and secrets and everything else meant to be deciphered.

“Not a hermit, and not a lighthouse. I couldn’t imagine someone like you being bored with your life.” His voice had become welcoming, with a hint of genuine interest, and this transition felt imminent ever since you first introduced yourself. The tilt of your head signified your agreement with his last statement and implied there was something that bothered you about this truth.

“Someone like me?”

“Someone like you. Curious, young with your whole life ahead of you. It's hard to believe you should be bored with that.”

“You say that as if you aren't the same age as me.” Jungkook shrugged lazily and scuffed his shoes against the rug as he now stood against the window sill, observing your interest of his books.

“I shouldn’t be a lot of things, and yet I am all those things. Bored, curious, and I’m here talking to a complete stranger that totally has the capability to murder me like in those movies instead of going back home.” Your comment that snuck out had wrested a soft chuckle from Jungkook. They were absentmindedly thrown into the air that filled the space between you and him, nurturing his reciprocated fascination with you. Your diligent grazing of each book had distracted how the weight of your eyelids heavied by the minute.

“It’s not like I don’t have great people in my life or a quality education that takes up most of my time, I just,” Your brief pause was to turn your attention over to Jungkook, who did not hide how he was listening intently to these confessions, alleviating from a place in need of emptying. His eyebrow was arched in a manner that jolted you back to your senses. You’d revealed one too many privacies to someone who you had been acquainted with only hours ago. Mortification would have bathed your body if not for the way Jungkook seemed to strongly engage with your openness.

“You just?” He staged his interest overtly to correct the imbalance of how your genuinity left you hanging lower than him on the emotional scale. Jungkook believed that was the least he could do to mitigate the embarrassment about to silence you.

“Uh, I just never seem to be satisfied with what I have. And that makes me seem like a greedy, spoiled child which makes me even more frustrated with myself.” You admitted, pulling the blanket over your shoulders tighter as if that would shield you from the compromising guilt slithering out of your body. “And that’s how I see myself. Ungrateful and spoiled.” This certainly scraped the barrel of your deep rooted disgust with yourself.

“Not spoiled, just lost.” His response felt like a soft and thoughtful embrace, granted that this was meant to ease the tinge of reproach in your heart. The words he spoke caressed your cheeks and told you that every horrid thing you thought of yourself was flawed.

“I’ve certainly been in your position.” He euphemized what he really wanted to say to you, that he saw himself in you. Even though you spoke very little on this, he felt himself living every experience you alluded to as if he had been right beside you your whole life. Or rather that you had witnessed his life and suffered identical desires and grievances and adversities and were simply retelling his story down to the most intricate detail; and somehow you made it sound brand new and a thousand times more aching. He was stranded in a state of amazement, ambushed by your pain and how even in moments of emotional destitution, you were unquestionably beautiful.

Likewise, this stranger, who was no longer estranged, and his kind words nearly compensated for the billions of people you could never meet, all the dreams you wanted but could never alter into incarnation, and all the disappointments that plagued your heart.

And you felt held by his words, his voice, him.

“You’ve been in my position?” You requested confirmation.

“I was. Certainly.” And he confirmed.

“Where are you now?” In turn, you wanted this to suggest, ‘where can I find you?’

This question carried profound sentiment on both the giving and receiving end of it. To you, this yearned for advice. Any piece of wisdom would gladly, gratefully be accepted to ease this rampage of constant dissatisfaction. To him, it resurfaced a series of speculations long undisturbed until you had asked this question; a place intentionally void of all attention because it was sometimes too grim to remember. A haze of difficulty crowded a definite answer, though he knew there was one. He couldn’t place his finger on a fitting response and found himself next to you in search of the answer.

Where are you now?

This haunted his mind for a bit, leaving him speechless and albeit impressed, for once, by your curiosity.

“It’s hard to say. Somewhere in between, I suppose.” Whatever meaning this carried did not resonate as sound to you. The mere idea of being on the end of perpetual longing, waiting for a clear path to the end that promised fulfillment, made it implausible to settle on being somewhere in between the two. Again, you were left unsatisfied and feeling a burden placing itself on your shoulders and wallowing a fit of disappointment in the pit of your stomach. Jungkook noticed how your eyes fell from his, down to the maroon accents of the rug, and felt out of place. Out of place, in his own lighthouse, all because your gaze and attention he’d grown used to in this short time wasn’t directed at him.

“That’s the kind of ambiguity that leaves me so hungry.” He nodded in agreeance with the twisted cruelty of his response you had pointed out. Jungkook didn’t know how or why he’d come to turn every corner and check each crevasse to find what could settle your appetite. This whole time, though, he sailed through this painstaking search without a trace of uncertainty. His illusion of disinterest and annoyance soon dissolved into the floor that your eyes hadn’t strayed from.

“Maybe if I lived in a quaint, not-lighthouse I would be satisfied with that answer, but I don’t. I live a normal, normal, normal life.” The repetition of your words stressed your fatigue of this dullness, your desire for everything just inches away from your fingertips.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a normal life. I think it’s wrong that we have put the idea of drama and excitement on a pedestal.” This outlook, unlike the last, did gain traction in stripping the thick ambiguity around Jungkook’s mind. To your surprise, you could be satisfied with the small pieces of this man’s mystery being chipped bit by bit.

He was well aware of his deep rooted appreciation that accompanied your eyes as it moved towards him once again. There was some sense of purposefulness in this glance that demoted his callousness to tender captivation.

“Can I ask one more question?”

“I have a hard time believing you only have one more question.” His doubtfulness didn’t seem to discourage you, or him.

“For real! Only one more, it’s important.” The only way to prove whether or not this question was truly important was for you to ask it. His head nodded his approval.

“What do you think makes us human?” Before he could answer, a swell of perplexity had overtaken his thoughts on this. You could tell, out of everyone, Jungkook would have a profound answer that could save you hours of contemplation over your philosophy essay’s prompt.

“That’s an interesting question.”

“An interesting question in need of an answer.” You prodded him for his response, though this was pointless if there was no response that could possibly be constructed. Not a response of reason that you seemed to require, but of feeling. Like an instinct, and that in itself made it inapplicable to this question.

“Ask me again some other time. I don’t know if the answer is that simple.”

But, of course, it was. The answer, in his eyes, was blindingly clear.

“I’ll hold you to that!” He gladly took accountability for that commitment. An unfamiliar contentment with the unknown had lodged in your chest when the promise of spending time together emerged through the once conditional circumstances. The promise that transformed those conditional circumstances to voluntary acts.

This humbling discovery left a wide grin on your face, beaming directly towards Jungkook.

Jungkook peered over to the antique clock placed on a shelf next to the window. The aversion of his eyes was to save face from how your soft smile that projected praise and attachment had effectively unnerved him; he stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide his fingers that twitched out of pure elation.

The hour hand stationed on the twelve carved in roman numerals verified how his company had erased any discern for the hours that passed. They had floated away so silently, slowly that you could have sworn time froze altogether.

“Oh shit, it’s midnight? Fuck me.” The decibels of your voice boomed against the walls, it could have shaken the stacks of books down to a pile of mess. “I’m sorry, shit. I didn’t even realize it was so late.” You unraveled yourself from the blanket and collected your belongings in a bit of a frenzy.

“It’s alright. I, um, I had a nice time.” He distanced himself from you swiftly as you dashed across the room to the edge of the stairs. Even in a hurried state, you still looked back to him and offered a smile, unsure if that was enough to suffice for a proper gesture of gratitude.

“Me too.” The words were close to inaudible, but you knew he heard them loud and clear, along with the string of implications that were laced in them.

“Oh and by the way, make good use of that umbrella. It looks like it could start raining again.” Your ears felt engorged with flames when he’d revealed his knowledge of your little secret. It was foolish of you to believe you could outsmart Jungkook because what you thought obscure was well within his range of astuteness and the umbrella, still damp from the rain, was apparent from the beginning.

You didn’t catch how he’d been smiling when you turned away bashfully, strutting down the stairs in an attempt to portray false confidence. But if you did, you would have picked up on his mutual indulgence in your visit, the absolute bliss laden in his eyes. You grasped tightly to the joy evoked from the thought of seeing him again, however your nerves held a tighter grasp that did not allow you to express this to him. Perhaps your giggles of excitement, surely heard by Jungkook, spilling from your throat as you rushed out the empty room or the way you clutched your umbrella to your chest in admittance you had purposefully kept that fact from him would give Jungkook a clue of how thankful you were to meet him. And even more so to be able to see him again.

As you parted from the lighthouse that was not a lighthouse, something in between, you felt that the comfort you once had taper off with the growing distance from the not-lighthouse. You were fraught with a gentle yearning to turn back, run up the spiraling stairs, settle yourself back into the right armchair, and ask humbly to stay a while longer.

Little did you know, Jungkook’s hopes coincided with yours like two concentric circles.

(One week later)

If it wasn’t the question left unanswered that motivated you, it was the fact that you missed the view of the beach from the window. Or maybe it was the countless supply of book titles that you didn’t get to finish inspecting. Perhaps it was that you missed how the soft blanket complimented the feathery cushion of the right armchair.

Any of these excuses could be suited to explain how you rushed through the town, determined, goal-oriented and passing down streets now ingrained in your memory, with a destination clear in mind.

But it definitely couldn't be how dearly you missed the sound of his voice when he read to you or his smile or the way he studied the waves with gentle affection. No, it couldn't be that.

Either way, you arrived at the base of the lighthouse. It had been a week since your first visit and you hoped that the invitation still stood for your return. Making your way through the empty room felt quick since you hadn't wasted time to notice how the table now had a vase of flowers in the center. Nor did you notice the new mat placed in front of the interior doorway to the lighthouse.

Your heart dropped from your chest when you reached over to the door knob only to find it was locked. You turned the handle back and forth as if that would miraculously function as a key to unlock the door. After a bit of knob fiddling had proven itself useless, you turned away with a huff of air releasing your frustration.

The click and turn of the handle had you twirling around optimistically and seeing him made all that disappointment dissolve.

“You’re back again.” He was smiling at you, then cocked his head to say come in. The moment you stepped into the lighthouse, its lackluster disappeared as if by magic. But Jungkook knew it wasn’t magic at all; it was the person that hid their umbrella, and asked him to read and promised to return as much as he promised to let you return.

“I believe you promised to keep reading to me.”

“Did I?” The reasons for your return weren’t all that important to discuss, both you and him were just glad to make your way up the stairs to the two armchairs once more, hearts both racing not because of the physical exertion from the stairs but from the excitement rasping through yours and his bodies.

“Yes, but this time I won’t fall asleep.”

“We’ll see about that.” There was no question that your intense focus wasn’t because you cared about the book he had been reading. In all honesty, you would not be able to summarize any bit of the plot if someone asked. You probably would have a hard time even naming the author of the book because what sank you into the words on the pages wasn’t the story itself, but the voice that read them. Jungkook made those languid paragraphs sound like the first words ever to be spoken; he reinvented the English language through his unique dialect, inflections and phrasing that had the words of Homer dancing off the pages. So, of course there was no question that you wouldn’t be able to name any of the characters or recognize the writing style of Homer because those details faded away, leaving only the memory of his voice with you.

This time, Jungkook didn’t have to offer you a seat. He made it clear that this spot had been reserved and waiting for you by the way the blanket had been folded and worn by the arm of the chair and the new pillow resting at the base of the chair’s backrest. You planted yourself on the cushion that felt more plump than the last time you sat in it and faced towards the large window that showcased the ocean’s energetic swaying.

“I would never get tired of this view.” You commented while Jungkook pulled back the curtains further to widen the seascape. He too was drawn to the deep blue waters making their way to and from the shore.

“I usually don’t leave the windows this open, but my love for the scenery of the ocean has rekindled.” When he said this, your eyes hadn’t budged from the window unlike Jungkook’s that peered over to you. You pretended not to notice that or the way your heartbeat had taken a quickness that had your skin growing warmer.

“How could it leave in the first place?”

“It is well known, especially by you, that having an abundance of something lessens your appreciation for it.” A corner of your lips lifted at this, knowing exactly what he had been referring to. Each wave passed by and in a comatose-like state, you wondered where on the shore it would land.

“No need to call me out already, Jungkook.” He had left the window and retrieved The Odyssey that hadn’t left the side table since the night he read it to you. This broke your trance, and you shifted to face the left armchair.

“You made it too easy, ___.”

“Okay, Hermit.” Your smile did wonders to ease the irritation in Jungkook’s chest to tenderness. Though he refused to admit it, this otherwise taunting nickname sounded affectionate coming from you.

“Technically a hermit is-”

“Technically, I don’t care about your technicalities. No amount of facts will persuade me that you aren’t a Hermit.” Jungkook dug his tongue into the side of his cheek to resist from joining in with your laughter. He’d been fidgeting with the book that was waiting to be read, but neither of you seemed to mind putting that off.

“Ho- How was your day?” You shouldn’t have felt as proud as you did for making a man who could read aloud for hours stutter over his own words, and nonetheless you were extremely flattered by this.

“It was good.” Good never really meant good, and Jungkook knew this.

“And what’s the truth?” Your playing field had once again been unleveled, the advantage returned into the palm of Jungkook’s hand in the blink of an eye. His perceptiveness had been bordering on annoying but still remained on the side of impressive.

“Well,” You bunched the blanket in your fists as an expression of worry, “My mom called today.” Anyone who could hear would be able to tell you sounded unhappy about that.

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” Jungkook articulated his question to get the answer he’d been looking for, finding the hostility in your voice far more interesting than the actual conversation between you and your mom.

“You don’t know my mom, but she projects her over achieving personality onto almost everyone she meets, but most of it goes onto me.” Your back had straightened when mentioning your mom, almost as if it were a reflex, like Pavlov’s dog, that you were conditioned to be on guard at the thought of her. “I don’t know why I get so mad at her when she does that because I know it comes from a place of love.”

Jungkook hummed softly, granting you space to continue talking.

“Yeah, it probably comes from a place of love but part of me doesn’t believe that. Part of me thinks every time she calls to check on me it’s really just a ploy for her to nag me on what I could be doing better.” You scoffed as the conversation from earlier in the morning played out in your head again. Envisioning the back and forth between you and your mother only fueled your frustration but you couldn’t help yourself. There was no stifling the seething anger imploding before Jungkook’s eyes. “She always says stuff like, ‘Maybe if you applied yourself more you would be doing better than this.’ or ‘I told you that you should have done this or that and now it’s too late’ or the infamous ‘Do you not care about your future?’ lecture that just gets under my skin. She’s so good at saying the wrong things at the wrong time. I don’t know how she does it but she always manages to rub dirt in the wound.”

“So, she’s never satisfied with you?” Jungkook observed.

“No, never! And you’d think a mother would be supportive or happy with all the things her child had already accomplished but somehow it’s never enough. And she knows what she’s doing. That makes it worse. She knows how she weaponizes my guilt against me.” You held your tongue from the much longer rant about to digress, feeling a sudden discomfort in the way you’d been complaining to Jungkook. You couldn’t understand why it was all too easy to talk of these kinds of things to him, why he looked so interested in what you were saying even when anyone else would have grown tired of you by now, why you found in him a warm confidant much more comforting than you’d expected, yet there was no way to dismiss this reality.

Jungkook did not offer advice, or tell you that you should be thankful or that maybe you were handling these situations poorly. He did none of that. His silence was more thoughtful than any number of things he could have said. He simply listened.

You rose from the chair to get a closer view of the sea. Past your reflection in the glass, the consecutive tides seemed to grapple over the next and the next; the previous wave always just short of reach to tackle the immediate wave. He had followed you without a word, living up to your desire to have him at your side. There was no need for mindless comments or condolences to fill the silence, only mindful amity, at your side, because watching the ocean with you was enough.

“So, that was my day.” It was the first thing spoken after a period of quiet, perfectly timed and delivered for it to bear a dry humor in its intention. Jungkook and you laughed, finding this the long needed release of tension in your head.

“Is this going to become a habitual thing?”

“What’s that?”

“Me complaining to you about my personal struggles that would have gone in my journal or somewhere far more private than this.” All said while your and Jungkook’s gazes didn’t wander from the view of the window. “Me inviting myself into your lighthouse, or not-lighthouse, whatever.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Two heads turned towards each other almost as if it were on que.

The way your pupils dilated and softened conveyed every bit of thanks you held in your heart but couldn’t muster the courage to voice. Jungkook’s doe-eyed smile thanked you likewise and confessed the gratitude for how you had rescued him from yet another lonesome afternoon with a curtained window, an unused blanket, an empty chair, and a melancholic silence as he read his one of thousands of books. Not including The Odyssey, that was for your ears only.

“You wouldn’t?”

“Maybe a little.” His tease succeeded to provoke that smile of yours. And even though that was a favor on his end, he was the one that felt graced by it. Realistically, a smile costs nothing yet there grew an enormous debt in his heart; and even though he couldn’t afford it, all he could do was bask in every detail your smile, of the crease of your eyes, and of the way your cheeks took the form of a sweet Spring Peach, and the scrunch of your nose and brows. Before he sank himself deeper in debt, Jungkook beckoned for the two of you to return to your seats and read all your worries away.

---

Who would have guessed that The Odyssey, of all things, would be the thing that would occupy most of your Fridays through the rest of the winter? Sometimes you visited a Sunday, and other times you’d find yourself needing to hear The Odyssey on a Wednesday evening or a Monday morning. The days on which you swung by the now familiar lighthouse would vary, but they remained a weekly occurrence.

Jungkook had grown comfortable with this routine, reading to you while you watched him and the waves, but mostly him. Occasionally, his reading would cease to an interruption of his own doing to ask how your day was in a very specific way that only Jungkook seemed to exhibit. He’d ask you say anything but ‘good’ or ‘boring’ and he’d clarify that he wanted you to not leave out any details.

“Why?” You would ask. And he’d look at you as if you set yourself on fire.

“It’s important to me.” He’d reply as if it were that simple, or the answer you were looking for. Still, if it was important to him you didn’t need any more persuading.

Like when you told him you stopped by a coffee shop, he’d tell you to specify which drink you ordered and how it tasted.

“Cinnamon.”

“Is that your favorite?”

“No, I prefer peppermint but sometimes I combine those flavors and that becomes my other favorite.”

“That sounds sweet.”

“It absolutely is.”

“Does that make you happy?”

“It makes my insides feel like Christmas.”

“Is Christmas a feeling?”

“It is to me!” He smiled at your childlike enthusiasm because it made life seem a lot more appealing than he’d ever believed. Before you, the world was a little greyer. After you, suddenly full of vibrance, saturated to the grandest extents.

Or the time you brought a candle to fill the air with something a bit more pleasant than the smell of the old, wet stones of the lighthouse.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a candle, vanilla and patchouli.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I don’t remember. I just found it in my house and thought this place needed something sweet.”

“But you’re here.” Your teeth bit down on your tongue when he said this. You almost fallen trapped in figuring out what motivated him to say this, but the flattery of his comment was all too pleasing to ignore.

“But I don’t smell like vanilla and patchouli.” You said, only to save face from the fact that you suddenly felt like a deer in headlights when he looked at you, bracing for when he would crash into you and hoping to god you can absorb the exhilaration of souls colliding; and hoping to god he would crash into you.

“Could you light it, then?”

“Of course.”

And the room filled with a sweetness that complimented your company finely. Now, whenever he would smell the scents of vanilla and patchouli he would think of you, and you of him.

He would continue asking these simple questions, and so on.

Why he thought it was essential for you to relay these almost invaluable intricacies was beyond you, but it did make you feel heard; it made you feel held as it always did. It made the value of your life gone without the need to be earned or proven, the value of the smaller moments that fell between bigger moments.

It made it all okay that you felt like you stripped the clothes from your whole life off for him to revere and that he’d rarely ever display such emotional nudity for you; you were okay with lying bare before his eyes, vulnerable and pliant to his every whim. Even when you wanted to know all of these things about Jungkook and he’d hold them captive or he’d only offer half sufficient answers, you collected as many bits of the puzzle as possible to try and piece together his story.

“How are your parents, Jungkook?”

“Long gone.”

“Oh, Jungkook… I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I watched them grow old and content and that softened the blow.”

“Are you lonely?”

Yes, it’s excruciating when you are not here. I am tormented in your absence and all too plagued with despondency and I wish you knew that.

“I’ve grown used to it.”

“So you have.”

“So I have.”

You did not want him to be lonely; you didn’t want him to ever be sad but you wanted him to be able to say that he was to you. You wanted him to be able to tell you he was lonely; you wanted him to want you to know his heart. You wanted him to feel as naked as you felt. Vagueness was all you could ever manage to arrest from his gated mind.

And for once, the little he had given was more than you could ever ask for.

Sunday mornings with Jungkook were your favorite. The ocean was tame during this time on Sundays specifically and sailed you into its calmness; you were half asleep, resting on the sill running along the base of the window panes. Spring had been approaching which meant there were radiant glimmers of the early sun that reflected and glided along the ripples of the waves. Jungkook once said that every time he looked at these little pieces of diamond rays, he believed the sun and the sea performed in devotion for you and him alone.

“I love that.” And indeed you did. The idea that no one else witnessed this ocean, not this one, not the way you and Jungkook had, was a greedy disposition but felt so true.

“Would you like me to read?” He said in place of, Is my voice properly fitting for something as lovely as this moment?

“I want you to talk, but not of books.” You blinked slowly at Jungkook, “Could you tell me about yourself? Just one thing, anything you choose.” He saw those specks of diamonds glimmering in your irises. He felt so close to you, sitting on the other end of the window, and close enough to finally surrender a bit of his gated mind.

“When I was a child, I knew my days were numbered. The details of why aren’t important, but I digress.” You stuffed a scoff down your throat at the assertion that the details weren’t important. Him, of all people, claiming the details were unimportant had you whirling in a paradox. “With this in mind, I did my best to fulfill everything any child would have wanted. And I don’t think I’ve ever stopped because that list of desires was never ending.”

Was this what he meant when he said he was in my position once? You wondered.

“I spent all my time looking for the next best thing I could achieve, because the best things that I had was, as you know, never enough. One week, the best thing would be finding a four leaf clover to give to my mother. The next, it was being the first in line for the new, long awaited comic book. Or, it was the time my father took me fishing on the lake, and then seconds after it was the first fish I caught and threw back into the water, and that best thing was soon replaced by my father’s proud smile.”

Your throat tightened as you visualized a young Jungkook sitting on the dock with his father, full of youth and excitement, and how nostalgia had ripened into your heart even though you had no place in this memory of his. This dream-like sequence had compelled a few tears to fill your eyes, fogging your vision of the older Jungkook that sat before you.

“When I grew older, in my adolescent and teenage years, the next best thing was fulfilling a newfound passion. It prompted me to buy out almost the entire library and major in World Literature. I spent the rest of my days from then on immersed in reading, as you can see. It was the only place I felt like I was achieving the next best thing, and it was cruel when I came to realize there was no way in hell I could finish all the books I’d collected in time.”

“In time for what?”

“In time... for the next best thing to come along, I guess.” This answer appeared fabricated, but was subtle enough to pass through your mind without a second thought.

“And did it? Did it come along?”

It would have made no difference if your question had been asked to a brick wall because Jungkook brushed it off as he did every other question that would have given you another piece of his puzzle. He took precautions to avoid a defeat to your pouting by walking over to the left armchair and burying his face in the book’s fortitude. Before you had the chance to reiterate your question, Jungkook began to read, making it all too clear he was evading.

“Jungkook?” You whined to which he paid no mind by continuing to read.

“Is he being serious right now?” Again, you might as well have been talking to an inanimate object. There was nothing to be done when he lodged his restraint other than joining him in your armchair, quietly, permissively.

Every day, like this one, spent with him had you convinced it couldn’t be surpassed in enjoyment. And every day, your expectations had been exceeded. That was something you’d never think could happen. Soon, the cares and worries of this Winter melted as the avenue of Spring had unfolded before you. A long path, surrounded with flower blossoms and diamond coated seas, or in other words, the unfathomable had fallen into your hands.

The remainder of this pleasant Sunday had been consumed by The Odyssey and Jungkook’s voice singing its words as smoothly as the waves surrounding the lighthouse and small conversations during the pauses of his reading. One struck you into reminiscence of the first night you met.

“You never answered my question.” He paused, flipping through the many unanswered questions he’d left with you. Jungkook raised his brow to order specification of which one you referred to.

“What makes us human?” The due date of your essay passed over two months ago, however this didn’t diminish your curiosity to know his answer.

“In all honesty,” He paused and looked to assure you would believe his answer would be honest, or honest enough to cater your satisfaction. “I think it’s our desire to achieve the last best thing.”

Every fiber in you compiled its own list of questions in regards to his yet again ambiguous answer, though you had grown to accept that as a part of Jungkook. And you sure as hell accepted Jungkook, ambiguity and all.

“Hm.” It didn’t take a mind reader to know you had theorized any and all connotations branching off from his answer and he didn’t mind that you could be lost in search of whatever the actual meaning of it was.

The moon was in its fullest bloom tonight, and tomorrow, it would begin to wane into a crescent then into nothing but an empty space full of new and perhaps fortunate opportunities. Jungkook found the romance of this lunar phase well equipped for the dusty instrument he discovered in the base of the lighthouse.

“I found something that I think you’d like.” Your ears perked like a dog when it’d been presented with treats. “But you have to go get it. It’s in the other room.”

Whatever this surprise was, it had excited you enough to ignore how you’d have to descend and re-ascend the many stairs that would surely tire you. Your eager legs would have jumped right from the platform to the bottom of the lighthouse if the reality didn’t result in broken bones. As you rushed to the door to the other room, you pushed through and discovered a telescope standing in the corner of the otherwise empty space. A few moments later you were hustling back up the stairs, the telescope making the re-ascension of the stairs ten times as strenuous. All the while, Jungkook just stared in amusement at the way you struggled your way to the platform.

“No, I don’t want any help, thank you!” You said sarcastically through grunts of exertion before positioning the instrument in front of the window.

“Well, I didn’t offer you any, so, you’re very welcome.” He stood on the other side of the telescope, admiring the way you fell so easily in love with it, hands scaling the length of the scope.

“Do I just?” You pointed to the eyepiece at the end of the rod and he nodded. You brought your eye to the magnifying glass which was flooded with the enchanting glow of the stars. You’d never seen them this close, but this little gift of Jungkook’s had catapulted you into the illuminated abyss of the night sky. A measly woah was all that squeaked from your voice, because all the other words were stolen by the stars.

“Can you find any constellations?” He’d seen all the stars in the galaxy; that he was sure of. But none had shone brighter than the person he couldn’t tear his eyes from. Three o’clock had crept onto the antique clock, this late hour had worn down Jungkook’s walls completely as the soft glow of adornment laminated his eyes.

“I think I see ORion's belt. That’s the only one I know other than the Big Dipper.” You laughed at your own lack of knowledge of the stars. Knowledge didn’t seem to matter though, the beauty of the stardusted sky had taken care of that deficiency. You lifted yourself away from the telescope, allowing Jungkook a turn to stargaze.

“Have you heard of the Astral Plane?” Jungkook asking you something other than, ‘how was your day’, was a rare occurrence which most likely meant this was of some importance.

“I’ve heard of it, but I think I’ll need you to refresh my memory.” You really did need clarification on what exactly the Astral Plane entailed, though you mainly just wanted to hear him explain it.

“Some say it lies in the fourth dimension. It isn’t tangible or something that can be touched. It lies between everything, every atom, every cell, every city and forest and mountain and even between the crevasses of one’s own mind and soul. A place like this is full of divinity and complete attainment and the way it is reached has been theorized by many.” Jungkook’s meticulous readjustments of the telescope had you wondering which constellations he was searching for, or maybe he’d been looking for Venus or Mars or the Moon. “Some say you arrive there in your dreams, or when you reach enlightenment, or when death draws its curtain on you… I-I don't know why but I’ve always thought that it was stitched into the sky. Far beyond our galaxy, maybe the Astral Plane has situated itself in between each star, just like it does our souls, and exists as the vastness of outer space.” It turned out he wasn't looking for any of those things, he was looking for the Astral Plane.

Could the heat rising throughout your body be merely adoration, or was it something along the lines of a forlorn longing? When he spoke, you felt this sensation growing dense in your bones; you felt a gravitation towards him.

“Seems about right to me.” Fondness had stained your tone which filled some void in Jungkook’s hungry heart, and he’d failed to predict you were the one that would be able to settle it. “Maybe we’ll never reach the Astral Plane, but at least I’m here with you.”

When you said this, the hairs on his arms pointed towards the ceiling. For once in a very, very long time, Jungkook felt a euphoric resurgence striking through the catacombs of his soul and hot tears dripping down the expanse of his cheeks, to the tip of his chin, and onto the glass scope that was shielding this sudden emotional combustion. He blinked away the tears to the best of his abilities and turned away from you and the telescope and the sky. Jungkook felt the push of air from your movement towards him, but he shifted further away.

“Are yo-”

“I found a cluster of stardust, go look.” He averted you from him and you always fell victim to every trick in his book.

“Wow, that’s amazing!” The grip you had on the telescope was firm, like you were trying to hold onto the stars themselves.

“Amazing.” He said. This reiteration wasn’t for the stars, however. He wondered if you knew that. He wondered if you could feel how consumed he was by your magnificence under the full moon that reigned with gentleness over the waves. The once wild tides, now moving with the same serenity and romance embedded into Jungkook and this lighthouse. He wondered if you could see he had been emotionally disrobed and bearing all his affection for you. And he wondered how he was so okay with that.

Six o’clock didn’t feel like six o’clock. Your eyes that struggled to keep open told you otherwise, so again you and him were parting ways as the sun had begun dawning over the horizon and there were no more stars to fill the hours slipping away. Jungkook did all he could to compose himself. He’d offered to walk you out; you reached the door that led to the dewy, Spring air awaiting your departure from the lighthouse.

“Wait, ___!” This exclamation echoed louder than the beating of his crimson heart. After stepping through the threshold, you turned to meet his gaze, teary-eyed from what you guessed was from lack of sleep. Teary-eyed from what he knew was because of another egregious goodbye. “Thank you.”

This moment seemed fitting to test the theory that actions speak louder than words. This moment called for the lapse of courage in need to act, not speak. This moment was the moment when you finally expressed the thankfulness that, to you, seemed to outweigh his by pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. It was much colder than your lips and the docile warmth of the morning, but once you pulled away the warmth had stained his cheek.

Jungkook felt like every cell in his body was evaporating into the space around him. Like the way a fire would extend its heat into the air or the way Spring melted away the frost ridden Winter, your act had covered him in a blanket of love and refuge from the loneliness once vaulting his heart. And it certainly spoke louder than words; all the words in every book Jungkook had ever read and the words left unsaid and the words passing between everyone in the universe.

“I’m the one who should be thanking you, Hermit! You helped me see Orion’s Belt up close and personal!” You called as your strides began a slow fleet from a laughing Jungkook. You waved, now standing a generous distance from him, and he found this gave him the space needed to finally let his tears fall.

“I love you.” He whispered, hoping the wind would carry it to your ears and heart.

A revelation had overcome him, and no matter how many times he tried to wipe the tears away, they’d be instantly replenished like a stream of water rushing from a conquered dam, spilling over endlessly, with all control suspended in the air around him.

Was it finally here? The last, best thing?

---

A week after the stargazing, your mind had mapped out the stars as you too searched for that Astral Plane. To you, Jungkook’s proposition of it being strewn in the night sky was the only theoretical that made sense. You wanted to flaunt your newfound passion for this concept he’d introduced, and admittedly - and more importantly - you wanted to kiss him again, leading to yet another blissful walk down the seashore to the lighthouse. The air was warm but not humid, carrying a breeze that evened out the sun’s heat nicely. A few pillows of clouds were cascading through the sky, never staying in one spot for too long; you’d come to appreciate each one’s temporary presence and when they passed, you grew to appreciate that as well. The gaze once fixed on the sand had now traveled to the waves of much gentler motion than ever before.

This walk, unlike the dozens of others, felt different. The streets looked lovely and the air felt clean in your chest, giving you a pleasant journey far more intimate than the last. Then you realized, it felt like you were walking back home.

When you grew closer to the lighthouse, you noticed the curtains had been drawn which was strikingly unusual for a sunny day such as this one. This was a passing observation as you made your way to the base of the lighthouse.

Through the door to the room before the lighthouse, you were taken aback to find your armchair sitting in front of the table. you walked up to discover a single, folded parchment sealed with a red wax stamp labeled with your name along the top of the paper.

This felt eerie, for some reason, and you called out his name only to be met with silence, before sitting yourself down and unsealing the note.

It read in his voice:

My Dearest, ___

I wrote this to relay a lot of things left unsaid. The first being goodbye. I’m sorry to have to leave you like this, though no amount of remorse could possibly appease my actions.

Your heartbeat had grown rampant, until your eyes read those words. It was then when it stopped altogether. Still, you continued to read.

I kept things from you like the fact that our encounter in the town’s square was all but coincidental. The truth is scary, and my truth would have turned you away from the beginning. It was selfish, I admit, but I do not think I could have endured such a loss. Forgive me for keeping you in the dark all this time, but I am beyond gratified for what you granted me in spite of that.

Maybe it might seem cruel. You are not alone in feeling that — never alone. But, we were never meant to spend every Sunday morning, or Friday evening, or Wednesday afternoon together to watch the waves float along with the hours lost reading to you; I knew this was not the end of your story, just mine.

The books I have read over and over have imprisoned me in search of the “next best thing”. To my dismay, I thought I had run out of time to find it. But then you came along. You helped set me free by allowing me to live out a few more “best things” through the way you shared your life with me, unselfishly, warmly, kindly— You helped me move on.

I know you too will move on from this. I hope I could at least leave you with the tools and courage to find each “next best thing” in store. If not that, then this lighthouse, open to you and only you, and a myriad of good memories to ease our parting. I know in my heart you deserve nothing less.

I hope you find contentment somewhere in the sea or on the sand or in the stars, or perhaps somewhere in between.

Once you do, we will meet again within the Astral Plane, my love. I swear it. And if you miss me, just look through the telescope and find me woven in the spaces amidst Orion’s Belt.

Thank you. Again and again I thank you and it is still not enough. Thank you for you, for your warmth, for your salvation, for your smile, for your endless questions, for re-introducing me to the aroma of vanilla and patchouli but it was not as sweet as your companionship, for putting good use of the right armchair and the view from our window, for making the odyssey a little less lonely to read, and thank you for stepping into my lighthouse and my life.

Don't you see, it was you. You were my last, best thing.

with love and sorrow,

Jeon Jungkook

Before you got to the end of the letter, you were racing up the spiraling stairs, ignoring the burn in your tightened chest, how the air in the lighthouse had suffocated your lungs. The dizziness that blurred your eyes had not slowed your climb up the stairs, and the wetness of your tears now seeping into his letter.

You reached the top, The Odyssey greeting you on the chair Jungkook would have been seated in. Your breaths were staggered and warm, filling the mournful emptiness of the lighthouse.

“Jungkook.” You whispered. You begged for a reply. The curtains were drawn over the window, like never before, and exposed a bronze plaque peeking out from the end of the fabric. You pushed the drapes aside to read what was engraved into the metal plate and the first page of The Odyssey that hung below it.

In loving memory of our beloved son, Jeon Jungkook. May he rest in peace. 1918-1942.

The note below read:

The Odyssey

Jeon and ___ Lighthouse.

You pieced the puzzle together, finally. And with that, came the final picture, so beautiful and mesmerizing and everything you could have ever hoped for, and more.

“Jungkook.” You repeated as a bid of farewell, with a heart full of satisfaction and content, and Jungkook. You pressed the letter to your chest in hopes his words would mend your aching heart.

And it was true, he was not your last best thing, only one of them.

But he was undoubtedly your most cherished and beloved best thing.

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dreamingofmilk · 5 years ago

Text

SugarBabe

Word count 2.1k

Summary: What would it be like if Erik was your boss and you were both stuck in a really tough spot.

This is for @marvelmaree and her birthday challenge.

Another email buzzed into your phone, your fingers anxiously twitched around it desperate to answer and solve all your problems. But it was never that easy.

You were a headstrong and independent woman who always strives to take care of yourself without the help of anyone. You didn’t need anyone to take care of you, but the situation you were in right now made you consider otherwise.

You made phone call after phone call and nothing was working and soon you would be flat on your butt with nothing but your dream job to keep you up. But it really didn’t matter because in the end you would get everything figured out and back on your feet.

For right now you’d focus on your boss and helping him shop for his upcoming business trip. You were supposed to meet your boss Erik Stevens in the watch shop about ten minutes ago but you were a bit weighed down with all the bags you were carrying.

You stopped to rest on a bench, you had a few work calls to make anyway. A loud sigh of relief escaping your lips when the weight of the back. You were just catching your breath when you heard a chuckle come from the stand in front of you.

“It’s okay to ask for help. There’s no reason a young lady like you should be carrying all those bags by herself.” The older man smiled kindly at you. You smiled back and quickly got up from the bench, you didn’t have to explain yourself to anyone. Erik offered to join you to pick up his online orders, but you assured him that his time was better spent on the conference call that he wrapped up ten minutes ago, and that the bags wouldn’t be too much for you to handle on your own.

Eventually you make it to the watch shop, and made eye contact with Erik as you entered the shop loudly with all the bags in your petite hands. Erik’s eyes roll over your form, his jaw clenching as he sees the amount of bags in your possession. He quickly marches over to you and snatches the bags from you. Picking them up effortlessly he bends down to whisper in your ear.

“Next time, we go together.” His anger is thick and understandable, you quickly look away from his eyes and nod. Silence seems like the best response at the moment.

You stand behind Erik to watch him pick out another sharp looking watch. It was his obsession, he loved his watches. Sometimes he would send you to go get them cleaned or fixed but most times he’d rather go himself, regardless of how busy he was.

As his personal assistant he demanded you tag along, especially when times were busy like today. Most of the time he liked having you around for the company, but also because he says having a beautiful girl like you on his arm warded off the desperate attempts some women took to shoot their shot.

Erik was a well known CEO of a huge engineering firm, frequently recognized by business magazines and publications, he easily became one of the western world's most sought after bachelors. So it’s no surprise that women recognized him sometimes and approached him when they felt necessary.

Erik held conferences, did interviews, and held charity galas all the time, working for him paid well, and he treated his employees with respect and cherished anyone who worked hard with him. You admired him and truly enjoyed working for such a determined man.

Erik finished up with the clerk and got his items wrapped up. While waiting he watched how you nervously kept checking your phone. The nervous tick of biting your bottom lip was a dead giveaway. After 5 years of working together Erik knew you well. He could tell when things were bothering you, he trusted you to tell him the truth about his company and a lot of the decisions he made. So any look of unease had him on alert as it usually signaled something that could be a problem with the company.

Annnnd he had a bit of a crush on you, he knew you had a crush on him too, but it was quietly determined that the two of you would not pursue it. The mutual attraction was obvious between the two of you, but you worked hard to bury it deep. Mainly because you worked so well together.

Erik grabbed your chin gently, his thumb forcing you to release your bottom lip. You looked up at him with your eyes wide as saucers. The grip on your phone tightened when you noticed Erik lick his lips staring down at you.

“What’s the matter?” Erik nodded towards your phone. You were a bit shook and quickly pulled yourself out of his grip and closed your phone pocketing it and smiling up at your boss.

“Nothing! Are we ready to go?”

Erik’s eyes squinted at you and nodded as he held up his packaged watches. You lead the way out of the store and towards his car. He put the bags in the trunk and you quickly hopped into the passenger seat after he opened it for you. You quietly murmured thank you and pulled out your work phone to see what was next on the agenda for the day.

Erik has a huge business deal coming up that required his travel to Singapore. Normally you’d travel with him for deals as big as this one, but this one was so important that he would be gone for about 2-3 weeks, maybe having to be back and forth a bit longer if everything went really well… or really bad. This trip required a lot of preparation on his part and yours and he left in two days, so it’s imperative that he complete his travel shopping today.

Erik climbs into the driver's seat and pulls off from the curb.

“Okay you have an appointment at Grisham Mall for those suits, then-“ Erik cut you off and held his hand out for your phone.

“Give it to me.” His voice is deep and rough. You go to hand him your work phone confusion etched on your face. “The other one.” His eyes cut towards you. “I’m not playing with you.” Your brain shorts. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, you were used to Erik’s moods and for the most part they turned you on more than anything.

“Why! It’s not that deep Erik.”

“Then give me the fucking phone so I can see what’s got you so nervous. Or you could just tell me.” Erik’s face was serious, he could always tell when you were trying to keep things from him.

You sigh and hand over your phone with the email detailing your eviction from your apartment.

Erik’s face got tighter as he read the email, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

“How did this happen?” He glanced briefly at you.

“I think someone stole my identity.” The words slip from your mouth, you’d been trying to handle it on your own this entire time, but things were worse than you perceived them to be.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply, his frustration clear. "How long has this been going on?"

"About a month." You shrunk a bit under his intense gaze, embarrassed to give him the answer.

"You've been dealing with this for a whole month and didnt say anything?" Erik knew you were headstrong and independent, he just never knew how deep that went.

You shrugged, "I'm handling it. I just need to talk to my leasing office and ask for an extension on rent. It's nothing to worry about."

Erik chuckled, mocking you under his breath. “Nothing to worry about” Erik grabbed your wrist, "The hell it is." He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a black Amex card.

"Here, pay your rent and everything else with this. I'll get Marcus on the phone and have him figure out who stole your identity." He flicked the card at you like it was a $10 Walmart gift card. You instinctively tried to push it back to him, but thought better of it when you saw the glare on his face. It's best to pick your battles with Erik and now was definitely not a good time to argue with him. He hates when you hide big things from him.

You grabbed the card and gave him a small but genuine smile, the relief and frustration fought for domination on your face. "Thank you so much Erik. I promise I'll pay you back."

"Don't worry about it. It's nothing."

You shook your head vigorously. "Bullshit! I'm paying you back one way or another."

Erik rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue. You made your way to the mall. Erik was on the phone giving Marcus a rundown of your situation so he could get started. The two of you made it to the next mall to pick up the suits. Shortly after he hung up, his phone rang again.

He greeted them with a simple "Erik." You couldn't help but eavesdrop, hey some could say it was part of your job, especially when Erik's face quickly morphed into shock.

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" He said.

There was a bit more conversation. “Why the hell did no one see this being an issue earlier. I specifically asked what were their core values!!” Erik's face grew more frustrated as it continued before he said a quick goodbye and hung up.

"Is everything ok? Did something go wrong with the Singapore trip?" You waited a few moments before asking.

"That was Jeff. He was able to do the values and moral eval on the owners and it's about what we expected, except for the part where they truly believe a businessman needs to be married and involve his wife in the processes of the business. They like the idea of a family guy basically.” Erik rolled his eyes. “Some bullshit about how there might be another competitor with values that line up more. Jeff's suggesting I need to find a fake wife for the trip to stay in their good graces. How the fuck am I going to find someone suitable in 2 weeks?" Erik pinched the bridge of his nose, his nostrils flaring in frustration.

You immediately started racking your brain sifting through all of the women you knew who could maybe handle the job. It had to be someone who knew their way around a company, even better if they had experience in the types of mergers Erik did. They had to get along with Erik- which was pretty difficult once he got to know them- enough to convince the owners that it was a real marriage. They had to be free during the 2-3 week period he would be in Singapore, and be able to do all of this under short notice. Not to mention all of the other factors like facilitating business meetings, building rapport, etc.

Erik suddenly stopped walking, and you were so deep in thought that you ran into his broad back, almost knocking yourself to the floor.

He quickly wrapped an arm around your waist to steady you, pulling you close to his side. He smelled so damn good!

"That's it! I don't know why I didn't see it sooner!" Erik smiled brightly.

"See what?" You tilted your head in confusion. He smiled softly and moved a few pieces of your hair back into place. "You can be my wife. You know everything about the company, we've been working together for years so we won't have to worry about that. It's perfect!"

The thought of it alone brought a euphoria you've never felt before, which was terrifying. There's no way you'd be able to handle pretending to be Erik's wife! You barely held it together working alongside him these past few years.

You shook your head, "Erik, I'm sure there's someone else who would work better for this. Plus someone is going to have to handle your day to day operations while you're gone."

He smirked, "I'll have Gina take that over, no problem. Besides, weren't you just talking about how you were going to pay me back? Do this for me and I'll consider us even. Think of it as overtime."

Damn, he had a point. You would just have to guard yourself during this trip then. You can't allow yourself to get caught up. He was right though. He's done so much for you, it'd be nice to be able to help him out for once.

You looked into his eyes and nodded.

"Ok. I'll be your wife."

Taglist:

@aislinnsilver @marvelmaree @wawakanda-btch @chaneajoyyy

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singledarkshade · 4 years ago

Text

Stuck Together

Summary: When a mission goes wrong, Rip and John need some help to break a curse leading them to Miranda. But will Rip's newly re-established relationship with her survive. Author’s Note: Rip Week Day 2: “Have you two considered couples counselling?” – Who should Rip be with and do they need counselling to stay together? Or it’s not romantic help he needs but a different kind of counselling. Over to you. Enjoy. ********************************************* “Have you two considered couples counselling?”

The two men standing in her living room stopped arguing at the question and turned to where Miranda stood watching them with an amused smile.

“Okay,” she said, as silence had finally descended, “Now I have your attention one of you, and only one,” she cut them off sharply, “Tell me exactly what happened?”

Rip and John shared a look with John finally conceding to let the other man speak. They were here to get his girlfriend’s help after all.

“I was sent to retrieve a book that went missing when it wasn’t supposed to,” Rip explained, “It needs to be returned to the Cairo Museum so that it can be stolen at the correct time.”

Miranda nodded, “Since John Constantine is here, I’m assuming this book has a supernatural connection.”

“It’s a text for summoning creatures from the underworld, amongst other things,” John explained, “I heard it was being sold so thought I would see if I could pick it up and get it out of the hands of anyone who could use it for ‘nefarious purposes’.”

“Okay,” Miranda said, “So, how did it go from a simple retrieval to what happened?”

The two men looked at one another and Rip sighed, “There was an unforeseen complication.”

Rip checked his weapons before asking, “Anything?”

“I’m afraid not, Captain,” Gideon replied, “Mr Constantine isn’t answering his phone.”

“Honestly,” Rip shook his head frustrated, “The one time I actually need his help and I can’t get a hold of him.”

“It is possible that Mr Constantine will be at the sale,” Gideon reminded him, “Considering the item is something he would be interested in.”

Rip nodded, “You’re right. Okay, I am ready. Are you detecting anything I should know about?”

“Not currently,” Gideon replied, “However magic is not always something my sensors can detect.”

“I can always hope,” Rip noted as he headed to the cargo bay.

“Captain,” Gideon said softly, “Please do not rush this mission in your haste to return to Lieutenant Coburn. She will understand if you are not able to spend her birthday with her.”

Grimacing Rip patted the bulkhead, “I know, Gideon but we only found one another again three months ago and I want to spend the day with her.”

“Then you should go now and finish your mission.”

Smiling, Rip patted the bulkhead once more before starting out to find where the book was going to be sold. Heading away from the wasteland he’d parked the Waverider on, Rip walked towards the warehouse that was being used for a marketplace for those in the sorcery/magic business. The place was dank, dirty, and smelled absolutely disgusting.

“And to think I could be having dinner with Miranda,” Rip muttered to himself as he slid into the marketplace.

Looking around he spotted the auction he was looking for, along with a familiar face.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” John Constantine demanded when Rip arrived at his side.

“Hello to you too, John,” Rip replied dryly.

Rolling his eyes, John asked again, “What are you doing here, Hunter?”

“I’m here to collect a book called ‘De Spirituum Summoing’,” Rip told him.

John frowned, “What do the Time Masters want with a book of summoning spells?”

“To put it back in its rightful place,” Rip replied, “And if you ever answered your phone, you’d know this.”

John grimaced slightly, “Yeah too many people I’m trying to avoid know that number.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t put it on your business cards,” Rip reminded him.

Before the sorcerer could retort, the auction began and both men focussed on it.

“Is there anything specific you’re after,” Rip murmured softly as they watched several different items bought by the group around them.

John sighed, “I’m after the book too. It needs to be taken out of circulation.”

“Here it comes,” Rip said.

“How much money do you have on you?” John asked.

Rip smiled slightly, “More than enough.”

“Good,” John replied, “Because there is someone I recognise over there who might be after the book and can outbid me a hundred times over.”

“Did you win the auction?” Miranda demanded when Rip stopped talking.

John and Rip swapped glances before John replied, “Yes.”

“So, what happened?” she sighed.

Rip grimaced, “Well…”

“Where’s my book?” Rip demanded angrily after the auction as the dealer looked at him dumbly.

John sighed, waving his hand in front of the man’s glazed eyes, “He has no idea. It’s a spell. He probably doesn’t remember his own name right now, never mind who took the book. But I have an idea who has it.”

Rip followed John through the maze of the marketplace, dodging around people as he tried not to notice the strange objects being sold. They headed out the warehouse and saw the man who had been bidding against Rip heading towards a van.

“Oi,” John yelled, “Magor, you disgusting bastard. Where’s my mate’s book?”

Rip frowned as he got a good look at the other man, he was thin almost skeletal with yellowing skin and nicotine yellow thinning greasy hair. He gripped the bag he was holding tightly to him as he pressed back against the side of the van.

Rip drew his gun while John readied himself to fight, small ripples of fire flickering from his fingers. Magor stuck his free hand into his pocket and pulled out a small bundle, throwing it at John who automatically went to catch it, the flames from his fingers set it alight covering them in smoke.

“Bollocks,” John snapped, he ran towards the van only to be yanked backwards to where Rip stood.

Rip let out a cry of shock when John’s entire body slammed into him sending them both into the fence behind them. They heard the van speed away as they untangled themselves from one another.

“What happened?” Rip demanded as he tried to catch his breath, managing to stand he brushed the dirt off himself.

“Not sure,” John replied, smelling the air around them.

Rip shook his head and started walking the direction the van had gone, surprise filling him when he was yanked back into John, sending them both to the ground in another heap.

John grimaced after they untangled themselves once again, “He cursed us. The bastard.”

“Cursed?” Rip blinked in surprise before demanding, “How do we break it?”

Sighing John replied, “I’m pretty sure I know which spell he used, I just need to find how to remove it and…”

“And?” Rip demanded worriedly when John trailed off.

“Another person, who we trust, to help with breaking the spell,” John told him, “Do you know anyone because right now my list is pretty small.”

Rip hesitated before he nodded, “There’s one person I can think of.”

“I’m honoured you trust me so much,” Miranda smiled as they finished the story.

Rip shrugged, “Who else would I ask?”

Miranda took his face in her hands and pulled him down to her, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

John coughed getting their attention, “Sorry but I can’t exactly go anywhere while you two have a quickie.”

Rip blushed, while Miranda chuckled, “Alright, do we have a plan of any kind or is this a wing it and see what happens kind of mission?”

“A bit of both,” Rip shrugged, “Our best idea is to head back to John’s place so we can lift the curse and then we track down the man who stole the book.”

She nodded, “Give me a few minutes to collect some things and we’ll head to the Waverider.”

Miranda headed to her bedroom and quickly packed a few essentials for the journey, adding her weapons because, knowing her Rip, things would not be as easy as he hoped. Pulling a coat on, Miranda grabbed the bag and rejoined the two men in the living room, rolling her eyes as they were bickering again.

“Alright,” she cut them off, “Let’s go.”

“Welcome back, Lieutenant Coburn it is wonderful to have you here once more,” Gideon greeted as they walked onboard the Waverider, before adding, “Please remember not to smoke whilst onboard, Mr Constantine.”

John rolled his eyes, “Well, that’s nice. She gets how wonderful it is to see you and I get an order not to smoke.”

“Because you ignore Gideon’s rules,” Rip reminded his friend, “Whereas Miranda is the favourite.”

Miranda chuckled, “I will drop my bag in a room and join you on the bridge.”

Rip caught her hand, “My room.”

“Okay,” she kissed him quickly before diverting off to the living quarters while Rip and John continued to the bridge.

Rip slid into the pilot’s chair and readying the ship for flight, John taking the hastily erected seat at his side as they couldn’t get more than a few feet apart without being pulled together once more.

“Gideon,” Rip called, “Has there been any indications that the book has been used?”

“Not currently,” she replied.

Rip nodded, “That’s good. We are going to head to John’s place to review some research material and hopefully find the spell to break this curse.”

“A wise plan,” Gideon replied, “I do not think the Time Masters would be happy to have Mr Constantine as a permanent resident of the Waverider.”

“Neither would you,” John noted.

At Gideon’s silence, Rip chuckled, “Is Miranda on her way?”

“Yes, Captain,” Gideon told him.

The doors opened and Miranda walked onto the bridge, she’d changed into a much more practical outfit than the summer dress she’d been wearing before, and her hair was pinned up the way she used to wear it for missions. Taking one of the seats, she pulled the restraint down and nodded.

“Let’s go.”

John released the protection spells on the door to the Mill House before he motioned the couple to follow him inside. Miranda had a smile on her face as she looked around. At least someone was enjoying themselves.

Leading them into the main room, John gave a wave, “Welcome. Be careful what you touch.”

“I’m going to assume that includes the dust,” Miranda noted pointedly as she studied some of the items around the room.

He grabbed a few of the books he thought might help them and placed them on the coffee table, “Start with these.”

Miranda instantly grabbed one and her eyes lit up with interest as she took a seat on the couch. Rip took a book as well and sat at her side. John could see both the hormones and awkwardness between the couple.

He’d been stunned when Rip had taken them to see Miranda for help, having had no idea that the annoying Time Master had a social life, never mind a gorgeous smart girlfriend who clearly had him wrapped around her finger.

It was odd watching their relationship as it seemed in some ways to be still in the early stages, Rip especially didn’t seem comfortable being intimate with her in front of John but then there were times it was like they’d been a couple for long time as they had an awareness of each other that only came from years together.

“Okay,” Miranda spoke up after about an hour of studying, “I think I’ve found something. John, what do you think?”

Taking the book, he scanned the spell and nodded, “This is perfect, love. But…”

“But?” Rip demanded.

“I have everything needed to create it,” John told them, “The problem is because of the nature of the anti-curse, Miranda has to do everything.”

Miranda’s eyes lit up, “You mean I get to do actual magic?”

John nodded and Rip frowned.

“Are you sure?” Rip asked, “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“If she was doing it without supervision then yes,” John told him, “But I’ll be walking her through the entire thing.”

Miranda moved to Rip’s side and took his hand, “I’ll be fine.”

Rip turned them slightly in the hopes of some privacy, “Magic is volatile, Miranda. We’re already cursed, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“You do remember that I received the exact same training as you,” Miranda replied sharply, “Don’t you?”

“Yes, but…”

“But?”

John coughed before they started arguing properly and spoke up, “Rip, it’s a relatively simple spell and with me watching over her, Miranda will be fine.”

“Not. Your. Choice,” Miranda stated, enunciating every word as she poked Rip’s chest with each word and Rip backed down.

John grimaced at the tension and clapped his hands, “Okay, let’s get this sorted so we can separate us then find the bastard who stole the book.”

Rip didn’t like that Miranda had to work the spell to separate him from John, but Miranda refused to even consider looking for another option. He’d forgotten how much she could frustrate him, how headstrong she was, and how much she liked to argue with him.

“Oh, this is incredible,” Miranda said as John sorted out the ingredients for the spell.

“The good thing about this spell,” John told her, speaking in a way to ensure Rip would listen, “Is that it’s not taking any life energy from you, it just needs the intentions. I’ll be the one who sets it alight to activate the spell, so it’s my energy. What it needs is that you care for, well I’d say both of us would be best, but at least one helps.”

“I care about what happens to you, John,” Miranda said, and Rip felt a small spike of jealousy go through him which eased when she added cheekily, “I need you to make sure Rip doesn’t get himself killed trying to retrieve this book.”

John caught Rip’s eye with an amused smirk before turning back to Miranda.

“Okay,” John said, returning their attention to the spell, “In the order I tell you, and during each step try to focus on whatever good points you believe Rip has.”

Laughter bubbled from Miranda, she tilted her head to Rip, who frowned at her for a second before giving in and pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

John chuckled murmuring, “So well trained,” before letting out a cry of pain when Miranda kicked his ankle.

“Watch it, buddy,” Miranda warned John.

Rip smiled at her defence of him, while John rolled his eyes, continuing to tell Miranda each step. Rip rested his hand on his girlfriend’s shoulder, when John advised it would help with the spell.

“I feel like I’m tingling,” Miranda said as she added the final few ingredients.

John nodded, “That means it’s working.”

“What now?” Rip demanded.

“Miranda,” John ignored him, “Take each corner and bring them together in the centre, twisting the ends then wrap the twine around and tie it in a knot so it holds together.”

She followed the instructions and a few minutes later, sitting on the bench was a small bundle.

“That’s it?” Rip asked.

John nodded, “That’s it.”

Miranda laughed in surprise before asking, “So what do we do now?”

“John?” Rip turned to the other man.

Grabbing the bundle, John handed it to Miranda and motioned Rip to join him, “Miranda when I tell you, throw it at us.”

Miranda picked it up and nodded, “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Just toss it gently,” Rip spoke up, “It’s not a bomb.”

John chuckled as Miranda rolled her eyes, he took a slow breath and allowed his magic to come forth. Flames danced across his fingers and John nodded, “Now.”

When Miranda threw the small bundle, it instantly ignited when John caught it, smoke covering him and Rip making them both cough.

The smoke cleared and Rip looked at John, “Did it work?”

“You walk that way and I’ll walk this way.”

Miranda watched the two men slowly walk in opposite directions both waiting to be yanked back together. Finally, they were standing on opposite sides of the room, well past the limit they’d previously had.

“I’d say it worked,” Miranda smiled.

John nodded to her, “Nice job for your first spell.”

“Only spell,” Rip added.

“Spoilsport,” Miranda said as John chuckled.

Rip frowned at her, “Now we’re separated, you should take the Jumpship home. I’ll pick it up once we’ve retrieved the book.”

Miranda stared at him before stating, “No.”

“Miranda…”

“I’m not leaving,” she replied, “There is still a mission to complete and it’s clear the two of you need adult supervision.”

Rip grimaced, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Miranda stared at him for a moment before grabbing his arm, “Excuse us a minute,” she said to John pulling Rip into the other room.

Once they were alone, Miranda folded her arms and glared at him.

“What?” Rip asked worriedly.

“Do you remember how we met?” Miranda demanded.

Rip frowned confused, “What?”

“Do. You. Remember. How. We. Met?” she enunciated every word sharply.

“Of course I do,” Rip replied, bemusement on his face.

“Then you remember that I was not only trained the same as you, but my scores were always higher,” she stated.

“I just…” he hesitated at her glare before whispering, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Miranda sighed shaking her head, “Rip, I am more than capable of looking after myself. I can’t believe you of all people are treating me like I can’t.”

“It’s been a few years though since you left,” Rip reminded her, “And I have been working as a Time Master for almost five years.”

Anger filled her, and Miranda forced herself not to yell, “I am staying to help but after this…” she paused, hating the next words out of her mouth, “But after this, since you obviously don’t respect me, perhaps we should just part for good this time.”

Sadness and confusion covered his face, “Miranda?”

Without another word she left him standing alone.

*********************************************

John’s location spell had led them to a rundown house on the outskirts of a housing estate and Miranda wrinkled her nose, “Lovely place. Do you think they’d sell?”

John chuckled, rolling his eyes as Rip remained silent. They’d not spoken to one another since leaving the Mill House and John was getting to the point where he was going to bang their heads together.

“Well?” John turned to the Time Master.

“The scans are showing one life sign,” Rip replied, “Presumably our friend.”

Miranda leaned over and checked the scanner, “Do you think he has any more of those tricks up his sleeve? Because as much fun as this has been, John I don’t want to be stuck to either of you.”

John saw a look of hurt flicker across Rip’s face before it became impassive.

“He has power,” John replied, “I should be able to pull together a quick protection spell for all of us to ward off any possible traps in the house, but it won’t help against him.”

Miranda frowned, “So we draw him out to us before we go inside.”

“Good idea,” John noted.

“Miranda is an expert tactician,” Rip noted softly.

John watched a smile touch Miranda’s lips briefly before she remembered she was mad at Rip.

“Okay,” John said quickly, “What’s the plan?”

Miranda chewed her lip for a moment as Rip mused.

“Do you…” they started together both grimacing and Rip motioned Miranda to continue.

“Do you have any way to draw him out of the house?” Miranda asked John who nodded, “Once out here we set up a trap. Either magical or technical. Once he’s trapped, we retrieve the book and get the hell out of here.”

John frowned in thought, “It’ll need to be a tech trap. I’d need more time to make a magical trap powerful enough.”

Miranda turned to Rip, “What do you have with you?”

Emptying his pockets, Miranda smiled at the bits and pieces he produced, “We can set up a grid easily using these,” she shook her head, “I cannot believe you carry this stuff in your pockets.”

Rip shrugged slightly, “You never know when you might need it.”

Miranda turned away, smiling slightly and John rolled his eyes again, he did not have time for this.

“I’m going to check the perimeter,” Rip told them, “Just to ensure there’s nothing unexpected.”

John waited until Rip left before turning to the woman putting together their trap.

“I know he’s an idiot,” John said, not sure how he had ended up in the middle of this and not believing he was actually getting involved, “But he does love you.”

Miranda sighed, “I know. And I love him too.”

“But?”

“But I’m not some damsel in distress that needs protecting,” Miranda noted annoyed, “I can take care of myself. He used to know this but since he came back into my life…”

John grimaced when she trailed off, “He’s scared he’ll lose you. Even I can see that.”

“I’m the one who stays put,” Miranda sighed, “I have a normal life while he could be hurt anywhere in time, and I would never know because the Time Masters don’t know we’re together and would never tell me. I’ve more to fear than he does.”

John shrugged, “The man is a moron but maybe give him another chance.”

Miranda rolled her eyes, “If we get out of this in one piece, I’ll think about it.”

Rip knew he had to focus on the mission, but his mind kept wandering back to Miranda’s words that they should end their relationship. He couldn’t lose her again, he’d spent so long looking for her, missing her and now…

“Gideon,” he called softly, “Have you detected anything from this location?”

“No, Captain,” she replied.

Sighing in relief, he hadn’t noticed anything either and hoped to get through this mission fast so he could persuade Miranda to give him another chance.

“Are you still in Lieutenant Coburn’s bad graces?” Gideon asked, making him frown.

“Why do you…”

“Because I have observed you on all the occasions that she has been onboard,” Gideon cut him off, “And she does not normally look so irritated with you, Captain.”

Rip sighed, “I just want her to be safe, so I suggested she take the jumpship home.”

“Ahh.”

“What does that mean?”

There was silence for several moments before Gideon replied, “It means you have apparently forgotten how capable Lieutenant Coburn is.”

Rip sighed again, “I know she’s capable, but she shouldn’t have to be here.”

“Has it occurred to you that she wishes to ensure you are safe?” Gideon suggested, “Your relationship is not sanctioned and if something happens to you then she may never know. Perhaps you should stop trying to protect her and look at things from her point of view.”

Miranda glanced round to as Rip returned from his walk around the area, “Anything?”

He shook his head, “No. Gideon has detected nothing.”

“Good,” Miranda said, “And we have a trap.”

Rip smiled, “Nice work.”

Glancing up at him Miranda gave him the smirk Rip knew so well, the one that always reminded him that she was not only better than he was but that he knew it. It was one of the reasons he’d fallen for her.

“Alright,” John interrupted, “Are we ready?”

Miranda nodded, “Get him out here and once he’s in the trap you two retrieve the book.”

“Just like that,” John grimaced before closing his eyes and calling forth his power, “Let’s knock.”

Rip and Miranda watched John release the spell to get Magor’s attention and didn’t have to wait long as the man appeared before them.

He was even thinner than before and looked as though a strong wind would break him in two, but his eyes were glowing with power.

“Don’t move,” John told them, “He needs to move closer. His magic isn’t strong enough to get us.”

“Are you sure?” Miranda asked.

John glanced sideways with a shrug, and she rolled her eyes.

Magor walked towards them, each step bringing him closer to the trap they’d set. Miranda’s fingers brushed the button to activate the trap, but they needed him to move just slightly closer.

“You have something that belongs to my mate,” John called, “And he wants it back.”

“Or what?” the other man spat at him, “Because the last time we met, you and your friend lost.”

As he took one more step, Miranda smirked, “That’s because they didn’t have me.”

She hit the button and an energy field sprung up around him. Magor looked around angrily trying to escape the shield.

“Okay,” she said, “Go get what we’re here for.”

John and Rip entered the house, they could hear Magor swearing at Miranda, but she had Rip’s pistol in case he managed to escape.

“Got the cloth?” John asked as he slowly eased his way across the floor into the centre of the room, ensuring he didn’t set off any traps.

Rip nodded, “Just need you to find the book.”

John released the location spell watching it move around the room until it stopped at a cupboard. Before he opened it, John held out his hand and Rip gave him the red material that had been warded to allow them to carry the book. Carefully John lifted the book using the silken cloth then wrapped it, making sure the cloth was secure around the book.

“Let’s get out of here,” John told him.

Leaving the house Rip was about to let Miranda know they had retrieved the book when Magor’s continued attempts to release himself bore fruit. As the shield dropped, the man stepped forward to attack Miranda, falling to the ground when Miranda coolly shot him.

John stared at her for a moment before turning to Rip, “Marry her.” Before Rip could reply John walked over to Miranda, “Is he dead?”

“Unconscious,” Miranda replied, sliding the pistol back into the holster on Rip’s hip the moment he reached her, “Stun setting only. Did we get it?”

Rip held up the book, “Mission accomplished.”

“Good,” Miranda patted his shoulder, “See what you can do when you have supervision.”

With an amused smile she started back to the ship leaving the two men to follow her.

*********************************************

“So, Miranda,” John said as they reached the ship, “This is where I have to say goodbye. It has been an absolute pleasure working with you,” taking her hand he pressed a kiss to the back of it.

Miranda chuckled and hugged him.

“Give the idiot another chance,” John murmured before winking at her, “But give me a call if you get sick of him.”

Laughing Miranda replied, “Look after yourself, John. I don’t want to have to rescue you again.”

Shaking his head, John turned to Rip, “Try to lose my number.”

“Where would the fun be in that?” Rip replied offering his hand.

John shook it quickly before turning and walking away. They watched him leave before turning and walked into the ship. Rip instantly headed to the parlour and placed the book in the safe activating a security shield around it so that it was safe until he could return it to the museum.

Turning he found Miranda standing there and he sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Rip whispered, “I know you are not incapable of looking after yourself.”

“Rip…” she started stopping when he held his hand up.

“Please let me finish,” he said softly, “I know you’re not incapable, but I lost you once, and it took me five years to find you again. I’m afraid that I’m going to open my eyes and you’ll be gone again. I love you, Miranda and the thought of not having you in my life scares me more than I can say.”

Shaking her head, Miranda grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and pulled him close, ��You’re an idiot,” she laughed before kissing him.

They parted and a relieved Rip smiled, “I’m guessing you’ve forgiven me.”

“For now,” Miranda replied, wrapping her arms around his neck, “So, Captain Hunter it is still my birthday, and we have a timeship. After we return the book to its proper place, let’s do something fun.”

Kissing her once more, Rip murmured, “As you wish.”

#fic #ripfic #rip week #rip week 2021 #rip hunter #miranda coburn #gideon #john constantine #Rip Appreciation Week

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